My Legacy
My great aunt bequeathed me her wardrobe;
hand carved and made from oak.
It matched the chest of drawers my mother had,
which my ancestors had made bespoke.
We washed, cleaned, and wax polished it,
and placed it where our old one used to be.
It had a distinctive smell of moth balls,
but we were overwhelmed by its history.
My great aunt believed it to be sixteenth century,
and was built especially for the church.
Any further information that we could glean
would be well worthwhile search.
After the smell had gone I filled it with my clothes,
but then it began to smell of church incense.
It wasn’t bad enough to make the clothes smell,
but why it did, made no sense.
A few weeks later whilst I was sleeping
the sound of church bells woke me up.
This was most unusual for the time of night,
so I opened the window to take a look.
By the time I’d looked out of the window
the bells had stopped, so I got into bed.
I had no trouble getting back off to sleep,
and the bells went out of my head.
The next night the same thing happened,
the church bells rang out loud and clear.
This time I realised they weren’t outside,
they were somewhere else quite near.
The ringing was coming from the wardrobe,
so nervously I slowly opened the door.
I sort of expected to see a portal to a church,
but there was only the clothes I wore.
The bells became a common occurrence,
so much so, they didn’t wake me up,
but when I began to hear an organ playing,
my wife and I, had to take a look.
Again there was nothing out of place
except for the music which continued to play.
We couldn’t understand what was happening,
and this was happening everyday.
No harm was coming from the wardrobe,
so I accepted our unusual legacy.
I didn’t discuss it to the family, or anyone,
in the fear of them laughing at me.
Throughout the weeks the sounds became varied,
singing choirs of a gone by age.
Church services spoken entirely in Latin,
and sermons delivered with rage.
Weddings, Christenings, Funerals, and Communions,
and every Christian festival and feast.
This was without doubt an insight of the past,
but now it was affecting our sleep.
One night when a service had ended,
the wardrobe began to shake on the floor.
Noises of movement came from within,
and suddenly there opened a door.
I jumped out of bed rather quickly
and had a look around inside.
Cassocks were hanging upon the rail,
and my clothes had been cast aside.
This situation had now become intolerable,
something had to be done without delay.
I dismantling the whole of the wardrobe,
and burned it the very next day.
I never saw my missing clothes again,
and when my family asked about my legacy,
I told them everything about the wardrobe,
and how it grew into a frightening mystery.
Now that I’m able to talk and write about it,
some people smile, and don’t believe a thing.
But if they care to spend a night in my bedroom,
they will still hear the church bells ring!
poem by Orlando Belo
Added by Poetry Lover
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