He Is Always There

A poem of how grief affected an old woman left with the same house.

There he is
His coat draped over the dust collected couch
Closing my eyes wishing I could turn back time
When I opened them there was nothing to see,
Nothing to look forward to
There is no more hope
There is no more I have of him
I just have that wool coat
But somehow he is still always standing there

The old wedding photos dusted over
The violin he used to play stood still in the corner of the living room
His old shoes still by the side of the door


Although things look the same, there is immense change
Change that I cannot begin to describe in any manner
I cannot fathom a world without him-
But I guess I have to persevere
Oh so severe...