This is a short poem about entering a house where the person has died and preparing to empty it. It is quiet but there are memories around the place.
Entered the house
No-one there anymore.
No life. Only things.
Possessions. Former possessions.
Nobody speaking. Just here to empty.
He won't be back. Not in this lifetime.
Did he live a life that was full.
Did he just exist. Fill in time.
Hopefully he had a good time. A good life.
Moving around barely a noise.
Squeaking floorboard. Traffic from outside.
Just emptying, quietly. No-one is speaking.
A clock is tick tick ticking.
Even that isn't talking.
Although it's a house and used to be full of laughter.
Now it is respected.