He picked up his last check and proceeded out the building into the cold winter snow.
Each footprint shaped like the tears streaming down his rough beard. Snowflake after snowflake each touching him with a cold flame, melting away the emotional armour revealing a little boy.
Entering the 96’ camry he starts the ignition, as the car slowly chokes out the cold air…
He sits there…
staring out the windshield, as the night incarcerates him.
Entering a mental Interrogation where there is no good or bad cop, just a man asking himself
“Why me?”
“Why now?”
“How am I supposed to…?”
“What I am I supposed to…?”
He strikes the steering wheel like hammer and nail.
Mouth silent, eyes screaming…
Minutes down the slushy road he arrives at the one story home. Approaches the small black door, opens it and is tackled by four warm children.
Each building back new pieces of armour within him. Their smiles and laughter freed him from the cold dark imprisonment into the new flickering flame of faith and freedom.
If only they could see his
worried thoughts
and beneath his eyes,
eyes that only revealed a good time...
If only they could see a man's cry.
I've seen pops endure the struggle, it taught me to stay strong in adversity
By: Mishael Ward ©