Finished Rooms

The peace dusts me - silent
motes fall softly through the air
add to the prior soft layer -

like an antique piece of furniture,
out of its time, the peace
layers down, softening the shine -

no-one disturbs the dust or
the silence, and softly do they
fall through the air glimmering

you would see where it stood,
the fine piece, were you to
move it, the outline of its

form would be written on the floor.
The castle corridors are quiet -
no-one comes here any more -
weapons on the walls gleam
empty suits of armour stand,
bent, some pieces missing,
scars from old wars.

Empty room, of people, but filled
with relics from the past, rose
damask drapes, walnut,
mahogany, rosewood, box -
all the woods are here
carved with care

but how softly the peace falls
through the still and silent air.

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