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TerryCollettPoems
Without you, my son, there's just the indentations on the bed where once you lay; the echo of the words you used to say; the sun's gone in and left the sky grey; and the words, like ancient manuscripts, crumble in my mouth as I try to pray; time drags its feet from night to dull day. Without you, my son, the room's an empty space; the mirror where once you gazed is missing your face; and mealtimes, long after you died, I still laid your place, and I feel an emptiness when I ask for God's grace. Without you, my son, my heart seems torn in two; my mind a bog mire of stagnant thoughts of what to do;   I try to sing a song, but it ends up a dark depressing blue; I go to places where once you went too, but you aren't there, just a wind blew. Without you, my son, there's a hole in my aged heart; my wounded soul is torn apart, thinking of each aspect of you, ticking off a chart, naming each precious part. Without you, my son, all things seem dull and dark; life has lost its spark without you.
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Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
WITHOUT YOU.
Without you, my son, there's just the indentations on the bed where once you lay; the echo of the words you used to say; the sun's gone in and left the sky grey; and the words, like ancient manuscripts, crumble in my mouth as I try to pray; time drags its feet from night to dull day. Without you, my son, the room's an empty space; the mirror where once you gazed is missing your face; and mealtimes, long after you died, I still laid your place, and I feel an emptiness when I ask for God's grace. Without you, my son, my heart seems torn in two; my mind a bog mire of stagnant thoughts of what to do;   I try to sing a song, but it ends up a dark depressing blue; I go to places where once you went too, but you aren't there, just a wind blew. Without you, my son, there's a hole in my aged heart; my wounded soul is torn apart, thinking of each aspect of you, ticking off a chart, naming each precious part. Without you, my son, all things seem dull and dark; life has lost its spark without you.
A FATHER TALKS TO HIS DEAD SON.
#son#father#grief
TerryCollett
Written by
TerryCollett
78/M
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
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