The Unwritten Father
Easy and passive, like rolling hills of green.
Sprouting favorable wine over the course of time.
Plain as snow, as a beam of light filtered through a window pane.
Silence lazily shadows in a strange delight.
Kindness untouched, feelings unearthed.
Laughter escapes the pitter patter of the lost and found.
The brush of innocence and words of joy;
The eyes to the window, the depths of its trust.
The curious nature and all it’s fuss.
To have love and to have loved, It crushes and expands.
As fate would have, like faith, it demands.
I miss the days of her long blonde hair,
The pouty lips and that angry stare.
The nights and days and her bouncing carefree steps.
There is no love that will ever compare
To that of a child whose love was so rare.
I’ll mis her all my days and she will never know
How this unwritten father loves her so.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 2:18 AM UTC
The Unwritten Father
Easy and passive, like rolling hills of green.
Sprouting favorable wine over the course of time.
Plain as snow, as a beam of light filtered through a window pane.
Silence lazily shadows in a strange delight.
Kindness untouched, feelings unearthed.
Laughter escapes the pitter patter of the lost and found.
The brush of innocence and words of joy;
The eyes to the window, the depths of its trust.
The curious nature and all it’s fuss.
To have love and to have loved, It crushes and expands.
As fate would have, like faith, it demands.
I miss the days of her long blonde hair,
The pouty lips and that angry stare.
The nights and days and her bouncing carefree steps.
There is no love that will ever compare
To that of a child whose love was so rare.
I’ll mis her all my days and she will never know
How this unwritten father loves her so.
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