The House of my Father
I have consigned him to memory -
finally.
Dust settles on him
like the haze of light
as it falls through trees
onto a clearing.
I will strive to be at peace
with the knowledge that he
is not really dead,
just dead to me.
And that after all the long years
of growing up, a treasure
in the trove of his love,
I am no longer welcome
in the house of my father.
finally.
Dust settles on him
like the haze of light
as it falls through trees
onto a clearing.
I will strive to be at peace
with the knowledge that he
is not really dead,
just dead to me.
And that after all the long years
of growing up, a treasure
in the trove of his love,
I am no longer welcome
in the house of my father.
posted by burning moon at 2:46 PM
2 Comments:
His loss sweets, very much, his loss
so sad though, and so pointless. It's such a waste of the little time we have left to share.
Religion has a lot to answer for
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