A Reiteration of the Forgotten

The old grandfather clock strikes its last chime
A gust of wind follows the curve of the hill down to the mooring dock
Ruffles the feathers of the silver swan sleeping in the reeds

Sit, legs crossed, on the entryway rug
Waiting silently for the door to open, to bang against the broken stopper
A deep gash in the scuffed wooden floors distorts the moonlight seeping down from the clouds
The wind in the aspens howls and groans
It creaks the window panes and strips the paint from the outdoor porch swing
Heaven forbid this is the last time
Dear God, let this be the last time

Am I lost?
No, just misplaced
Tossed into a drawer with the mismatched pencils and rubber bands
Where the key has been thrown into a heaving sea that spits its disgust at the world onto the rocky shore

Ah, the wretched sounds that screech outside, the claws, they rake up your spine
Curse the fog that lassos the bones and pulls them to the ground, it's one goal to heighten dispare
Scorn the evil whispers that haunt the forgotten tombstones of the world

Here we are again
Are you sorry?
Are you repentant for the way you left me here?
Waiting for the end of time that can’t be bothered to show itself
Because here I am, hands in my pockets
Here I am, waiting for something - anything to happen
But nothing changes and I'm locked in an embrace where the arms get tighter and tighter,
more resembling talons than anything comforting
So I sit
There’s nowhere else to go, it’s after midnight, everything is boarded up and closed
So I wait
Let the dust collect on my faded clothes
So I breathe
The door opens
And the porch is empty, once again