blog, compassion, creative writing, death, emotion, faith, grief, Life, memories, poetry, sadness, Uncategorized, writing

The Resonance Of His Voice

My dad has been gone

for all of these days

and I am seeing him now

in many new ways

I see my father in reflections

and behind the closed doors

I see him on the streets

and in empty drawers

He drove by me one day

but it wasn’t him

Perhaps he waved at me

with my thoughts at whim

I heard his voice one morning

but I didn’t reply

January was last time I heard from him

with no goodbye

They placed you in a box

after dressing you real nice

They painted your bruises

Your hands were precise

We carried you with grief

to the hole they’d turned up

Your shots were fired

your flag folded and tucked

Your eldest son cried

as he was handed the shroud

that covered your coffin

You made your country proud

We sold your belongings

and took what we wanted

You left us with materials and memories

and all those places you’ve haunted

Sometimes I see you

smiling sometimes

with your disgruntled look

and permanent lines

I smell your cigarettes

the ones you had put away

so many years prior

before you were gray

I hear your voice

while you’d punched my mother

so loud it still rings

I still run for cover

I’ve seen your good sides

and most of the bad…

But what hurts the most though…old man

You were always my dad

10 thoughts on “The Resonance Of His Voice”

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