Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
#fatherslove
— two stories, one silence — ________________________________________ A father… takes down a photograph not gently not carelessly but like it still breathes like it still holds warmth … 👨👧🖼️ … He presses it to his chest the same way he once held his child close safe whole … 👨👧🖼️ … He remembers her… the sound of her laughter how it filled rooms without trying how sunlight seemed to follow her like it knew she belonged to it … 👨👧🖼️ … A twinkle in her eye chasing butterflies like the world was nothing but wonder … 👨👧🖼️ … And he remembers that moment— when she told him what she’d become the pride Heartful… the pride that lived in his chest … 👨👧🖼️ … He smiled he kissed her goodbye like fathers do like it’s just another day … 👨👧🖼️ … But war… war doesn’t recognise love it doesn’t pause it doesn’t care about laughter or butterflies or fathers … 👨👧🖼️ … It writes its own ending in smoke in fire in silence … 👨👧🖼️ … And sometimes… daughters come home but not as they left not with laughter not with light … 👨👧🖼️ … but wrapped in something heavier than any father should ever have to carry … 👨👧🖼️ … And somewhere else— another father stands with another photograph … 👨👧🖼️ … This one… his son … 👨👦🖼️ … He remembers strength growing year by year small hands becoming steady a boy becoming a man … 👨👧🖼️ … Laughter that echoed not soft but full alive … 👨👦🖼️ … He watched him grow with pride with hope with that quiet belief that everything would be alright … 👨👧🖼️ … because that’s what fathers do they believe even when the world gives them reason not to … 👨👦🖼️ … And when life twisted— when the path turned when things became uncertain he stood there steady unmoving supportive … 👨👧🖼️ … because love doesn’t step back … 👨👦🖼️ … But war… war doesn’t ask who is loved it doesn’t choose gently it doesn’t spare … 👨👧🖼️ … It takes and takes and takes … 👨👦🖼️ … And sons… they come home too … 👨👧🖼️ … but not always whole not always smiling not always the same … 👨👧🖼️ … sometimes carrying things no one can see sometimes leaving pieces of themselves behind … 👨👧🖼️ … And in the quiet— in the stillness after everything there are fathers holding photographs like they’re holding time itself … 👨👧🖼️ … remembering what was what should have been what will never be again … 👨👧🖼️ … because love… doesn’t end even when everything else does … 👨👧🖼️ … — Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
0
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 9:09 AM UTC
A Fathers Tears / A Fathers Heartache
— two stories, one silence — ________________________________________ A father… takes down a photograph not gently not carelessly but like it still breathes like it still holds warmth … 👨👧🖼️ … He presses it to his chest the same way he once held his child close safe whole … 👨👧🖼️ … He remembers her… the sound of her laughter how it filled rooms without trying how sunlight seemed to follow her like it knew she belonged to it … 👨👧🖼️ … A twinkle in her eye chasing butterflies like the world was nothing but wonder … 👨👧🖼️ … And he remembers that moment— when she told him what she’d become the pride Heartful… the pride that lived in his chest … 👨👧🖼️ … He smiled he kissed her goodbye like fathers do like it’s just another day … 👨👧🖼️ … But war… war doesn’t recognise love it doesn’t pause it doesn’t care about laughter or butterflies or fathers … 👨👧🖼️ … It writes its own ending in smoke in fire in silence … 👨👧🖼️ … And sometimes… daughters come home but not as they left not with laughter not with light … 👨👧🖼️ … but wrapped in something heavier than any father should ever have to carry … 👨👧🖼️ … And somewhere else— another father stands with another photograph … 👨👧🖼️ … This one… his son … 👨👦🖼️ … He remembers strength growing year by year small hands becoming steady a boy becoming a man … 👨👧🖼️ … Laughter that echoed not soft but full alive … 👨👦🖼️ … He watched him grow with pride with hope with that quiet belief that everything would be alright … 👨👧🖼️ … because that’s what fathers do they believe even when the world gives them reason not to … 👨👦🖼️ … And when life twisted— when the path turned when things became uncertain he stood there steady unmoving supportive … 👨👧🖼️ … because love doesn’t step back … 👨👦🖼️ … But war… war doesn’t ask who is loved it doesn’t choose gently it doesn’t spare … 👨👧🖼️ … It takes and takes and takes … 👨👦🖼️ … And sons… they come home too … 👨👧🖼️ … but not always whole not always smiling not always the same … 👨👧🖼️ … sometimes carrying things no one can see sometimes leaving pieces of themselves behind … 👨👧🖼️ … And in the quiet— in the stillness after everything there are fathers holding photographs like they’re holding time itself … 👨👧🖼️ … remembering what was what should have been what will never be again … 👨👧🖼️ … because love… doesn’t end even when everything else does … 👨👧🖼️ … — Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
Continue reading...
152
— two stories, one silence — ________________________________________ A father… takes down a photograph not gently not carelessly but like it still breathes like it still holds warmth … 👨👧🖼️ … He presses it to his chest the same way he once held his child close safe whole … 👨👧🖼️ … He remembers her… the sound of her laughter how it filled rooms without trying how sunlight seemed to follow her like it knew she belonged to it … 👨👧🖼️ … A twinkle in her eye chasing butterflies like the world was nothing but wonder … 👨👧🖼️ … And he remembers that moment— when she told him what she’d become the pride Heartful… the pride that lived in his chest … 👨👧🖼️ … He smiled he kissed her goodbye like fathers do like it’s just another day … 👨👧🖼️ … But war… war doesn’t recognise love it doesn’t pause it doesn’t care about laughter or butterflies or fathers … 👨👧🖼️ … It writes its own ending in smoke in fire in silence … 👨👧🖼️ … And sometimes… daughters come home but not as they left not with laughter not with light … 👨👧🖼️ … but wrapped in something heavier than any father should ever have to carry … 👨👧🖼️ … And somewhere else— another father stands with another photograph … 👨👧🖼️ … This one… his son … 👨👦🖼️ … He remembers strength growing year by year small hands becoming steady a boy becoming a man … 👨👧🖼️ … Laughter that echoed not soft but full alive … 👨👦🖼️ … He watched him grow with pride with hope with that quiet belief that everything would be alright … 👨👧🖼️ … because that’s what fathers do they believe even when the world gives them reason not to … 👨👦🖼️ … And when life twisted— when the path turned when things became uncertain he stood there steady unmoving supportive … 👨👧🖼️ … because love doesn’t step back … 👨👦🖼️ … But war… war doesn’t ask who is loved it doesn’t choose gently it doesn’t spare … 👨👧🖼️ … It takes and takes and takes … 👨👦🖼️ … And sons… they come home too … 👨👧🖼️ … but not always whole not always smiling not always the same … 👨👧🖼️ … sometimes carrying things no one can see sometimes leaving pieces of themselves behind … 👨👧🖼️ … And in the quiet— in the stillness after everything there are fathers holding photographs like they’re holding time itself … 👨👧🖼️ … remembering what was what should have been what will never be again … 👨👧🖼️ … because love… doesn’t end even when everything else does … 👨👧🖼️ … — Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
0
Mar 24
Mar 24, 2026 at 4:41 AM UTC
A Fathers Tears / A Fathers Heartache
— two stories, one silence — ________________________________________ A father… takes down a photograph not gently not carelessly but like it still breathes like it still holds warmth … 👨👧🖼️ … He presses it to his chest the same way he once held his child close safe whole … 👨👧🖼️ … He remembers her… the sound of her laughter how it filled rooms without trying how sunlight seemed to follow her like it knew she belonged to it … 👨👧🖼️ … A twinkle in her eye chasing butterflies like the world was nothing but wonder … 👨👧🖼️ … And he remembers that moment— when she told him what she’d become the pride Heartful… the pride that lived in his chest … 👨👧🖼️ … He smiled he kissed her goodbye like fathers do like it’s just another day … 👨👧🖼️ … But war… war doesn’t recognise love it doesn’t pause it doesn’t care about laughter or butterflies or fathers … 👨👧🖼️ … It writes its own ending in smoke in fire in silence … 👨👧🖼️ … And sometimes… daughters come home but not as they left not with laughter not with light … 👨👧🖼️ … but wrapped in something heavier than any father should ever have to carry … 👨👧🖼️ … And somewhere else— another father stands with another photograph … 👨👧🖼️ … This one… his son … 👨👦🖼️ … He remembers strength growing year by year small hands becoming steady a boy becoming a man … 👨👧🖼️ … Laughter that echoed not soft but full alive … 👨👦🖼️ … He watched him grow with pride with hope with that quiet belief that everything would be alright … 👨👧🖼️ … because that’s what fathers do they believe even when the world gives them reason not to … 👨👦🖼️ … And when life twisted— when the path turned when things became uncertain he stood there steady unmoving supportive … 👨👧🖼️ … because love doesn’t step back … 👨👦🖼️ … But war… war doesn’t ask who is loved it doesn’t choose gently it doesn’t spare … 👨👧🖼️ … It takes and takes and takes … 👨👦🖼️ … And sons… they come home too … 👨👧🖼️ … but not always whole not always smiling not always the same … 👨👧🖼️ … sometimes carrying things no one can see sometimes leaving pieces of themselves behind … 👨👧🖼️ … And in the quiet— in the stillness after everything there are fathers holding photographs like they’re holding time itself … 👨👧🖼️ … remembering what was what should have been what will never be again … 👨👧🖼️ … because love… doesn’t end even when everything else does … 👨👧🖼️ … — Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
Continue reading...
152
When I look at you… I don’t just see children. I see time itself— moving, changing, growing right in front of me. You are my sunrise— the kind that pulls me out of sleep even when I’m tired, even when life feels heavy— because somehow, you make the world begin again. And in the same breath— you are my sunset. All those colours you bring into my life— loud, messy, beautiful— the kind you can’t hold onto, only stand back and feel. You are my mornings— full of questions I can’t always answer, energy I can’t always match, but wonder I never want to lose. And my afternoons— where everything turns into adventure. A walk becomes a journey, a game becomes a battle, and somehow… I’m invited into your worlds. You are my evenings— quiet moments, laughter softening into tired smiles, memories forming before I even realise, they’re happening. And then there’s the twilight— those in-between times, where you’re not quite little anymore… but not grown either. That part— that part catches me off guard. Because I see who you’re becoming, and I’m proud— but I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss who you were. You are my dawn— hope in its purest form. Everything I didn’t get right, everything I wished for— somehow… you carry it forward. And even in the midnight— in the worries, the fears, the quiet thoughts that keep me awake— you are still there. A light. A reason. A reminder of what matters. And every now and then… you are the eclipse. That rare, breathtaking moment that stops me completely— when I look at you and think, “How did I get so lucky to be your dad?” Now, listen to me— if the world ever overlooks you, if people fail to see what I see… don’t let that change you. Because not everyone knows how to recognise treasure. But I do. I always will. And loving you— that’s the greatest thing I’ve ever been given to keep.
0
Mar 21
Mar 21, 2026 at 10:39 AM UTC
You Are My Whole Day
When I look at you… I don’t just see children. I see time itself— moving, changing, growing right in front of me. You are my sunrise— the kind that pulls me out of sleep even when I’m tired, even when life feels heavy— because somehow, you make the world begin again. And in the same breath— you are my sunset. All those colours you bring into my life— loud, messy, beautiful— the kind you can’t hold onto, only stand back and feel. You are my mornings— full of questions I can’t always answer, energy I can’t always match, but wonder I never want to lose. And my afternoons— where everything turns into adventure. A walk becomes a journey, a game becomes a battle, and somehow… I’m invited into your worlds. You are my evenings— quiet moments, laughter softening into tired smiles, memories forming before I even realise, they’re happening. And then there’s the twilight— those in-between times, where you’re not quite little anymore… but not grown either. That part— that part catches me off guard. Because I see who you’re becoming, and I’m proud— but I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss who you were. You are my dawn— hope in its purest form. Everything I didn’t get right, everything I wished for— somehow… you carry it forward. And even in the midnight— in the worries, the fears, the quiet thoughts that keep me awake— you are still there. A light. A reason. A reminder of what matters. And every now and then… you are the eclipse. That rare, breathtaking moment that stops me completely— when I look at you and think, “How did I get so lucky to be your dad?” Now, listen to me— if the world ever overlooks you, if people fail to see what I see… don’t let that change you. Because not everyone knows how to recognise treasure. But I do. I always will. And loving you— that’s the greatest thing I’ve ever been given to keep.
Continue reading...
76
He need not bring us luxuries, As he never failed to fulfill our needs even without asking; He need not be taking us on holiday, As the quality time he spends with us is more than enough; He may not take us to restaurants often, As his handmade dosas never fail to taste delicious; He may not be fashionable and trendy, As he never judged our fashion sense; He need not give us valuables, As he gave us enough value education; He may not be by our side always, As he taught us well to stand on our own feet and to face the society; He may not hold power in the community, As he earned immense respect with his kindness and ethics; He may not teach us how to make money; As he never forgot to teach us how to save it; He may not work in a reputed organization, As all he care about is his family and not money or his career growth; He may not be expressive, As we can witness it in his actions; He may not be anything as he is everything for us!! And admiring his contribution may take my whole life. I may never express to him how much I admire him, care for him and love him; But one fine day, I will convey him how much his happiness means to me through my success.
0
Jun 15, 2025
Jun 15, 2025 at 1:19 AM UTC
He May Not... But He Is Everything.
Meri paidaish k waqt woh khushi aur fikr ke mix emotions mein kho raha tha.... Mujhe janam to meri maa de rahi thi, par usse dekh inhe bhi dard ** raha tha. Jab main bol nahi pata,tabse meri khawahisho ko pura karne ka zimma uthaya tha... Kandhe pe bitha kar duniya dikhayi aur ungli pakad ke papa ne chalna sikhaya tha. Bhale khud,hindi medium mein aathwi kaksha tak ki thi padhai.... Par paise jama kar kar, seher ki best English school mein meri admission thi karwayi. Office mein over time kar ke, mere future ki planning mein paise bachate the..... Khud eid pe purane kapde pehente, par humare liye naye kapde silwate the. Par tab zindagi mein, papa ka balidan aur pyaar kaha samjh mein aana tha..... Papa ko thank u, i love u baad mein keh denge abhi to sirf paisa kamana tha. Phir ek raat dosto k sang, madhoshi humpe chahi thi..... Par waha fikr k maare papa ko neend kaha aayi thi. Papa ka phone aaya to number dekh pehle phone kaat diya..... Jab wapas call aaya to   "kyun pareshan kar rahe ** keh kar papa ko daat diya. Phir agli subah phone aaya to socha, papa ko baar baar phone karne k liye naa kahe.... Par samne se awaz aayi "yeh jiska phn hai, unhe raste pe dil ka dora aaya, aur woh abb nahi rahe" Aaj raat hai par sulane wala nahi.... Dost aur party hai par phn kar haal puchne wala nahi. Aaj kehne to bahut kuch hai, par koi sunne wala nahi... Abb bol sakta hoon, phir bhi khawahisho ko pura karne wala nahi. Jab keh sakta tha tab maine kaha nahi.... Aaj paisa to bohot hai, par thank u, i love u kehne ko papa nahi.
0
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 12:30 AM UTC
Papa
Meri paidaish k waqt woh khushi aur fikr ke mix emotions mein kho raha tha.... Mujhe janam to meri maa de rahi thi, par usse dekh inhe bhi dard ** raha tha. Jab main bol nahi pata,tabse meri khawahisho ko pura karne ka zimma uthaya tha... Kandhe pe bitha kar duniya dikhayi aur ungli pakad ke papa ne chalna sikhaya tha. Bhale khud,hindi medium mein aathwi kaksha tak ki thi padhai.... Par paise jama kar kar, seher ki best English school mein meri admission thi karwayi. Office mein over time kar ke, mere future ki planning mein paise bachate the..... Khud eid pe purane kapde pehente, par humare liye naye kapde silwate the. Par tab zindagi mein, papa ka balidan aur pyaar kaha samjh mein aana tha..... Papa ko thank u, i love u baad mein keh denge abhi to sirf paisa kamana tha. Phir ek raat dosto k sang, madhoshi humpe chahi thi..... Par waha fikr k maare papa ko neend kaha aayi thi. Papa ka phone aaya to number dekh pehle phone kaat diya..... Jab wapas call aaya to   "kyun pareshan kar rahe ** keh kar papa ko daat diya. Phir agli subah phone aaya to socha, papa ko baar baar phone karne k liye naa kahe.... Par samne se awaz aayi "yeh jiska phn hai, unhe raste pe dil ka dora aaya, aur woh abb nahi rahe" Aaj raat hai par sulane wala nahi.... Dost aur party hai par phn kar haal puchne wala nahi. Aaj kehne to bahut kuch hai, par koi sunne wala nahi... Abb bol sakta hoon, phir bhi khawahisho ko pura karne wala nahi. Jab keh sakta tha tab maine kaha nahi.... Aaj paisa to bohot hai, par thank u, i love u kehne ko papa nahi.
Continue reading...
22
I'm not the best dad known to man I don't have money or fame I definitely don't have super strength I stagger from life's pain! I haven't been just where I should Beside you everyday I haven't followed My Lord's design In life or any way! I haven't lived a life to brag Or be so proud about Yet one things known that when I love It's love you'll never doubt! So as you read these words right now As written from my heart Just know I'm in Gods fold again, I've got a brand new start! Now as I live each day for Him I'll show you love you've  missed I'll tell you what you are to me Let's start with this small list - You're my princess and my angel My precious shooting star My gorgeous gem, the brightest pearl, My ALL is what you are!
0
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 10:38 PM UTC
"My Princess and My Angel"
Saturday is, it doesn't matter day, I don't care to answer the phone my day to get things done as so To play in the sun, while living fun, reliving youth with my child being a dad as best I can This day, I forget the world at large, kicking back to whatever thrills me letting go of the shackles that restrain I let go of all my aches and sorrows. hold on to the little arms, gifted by God making it his day to be who he is So I say to Saturday, my doesn't matter day I am blessed to have you here But, here's to the others in the week I'm treating you just as the same!! Copyright © J.L.Gonzalez 2015
0
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
Saturday.........