Papa
Not my work, my friend wrote this for his Dad, who died on 13th November. I thought I would share it.
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Not my work, my friend wrote this for his Dad, who died on 13th November. I thought I would share it.
Silence; I watch you from across the gallons of sea water between us. You float across the pier, The promenade seeming to separate us further as it curves and stretches.
These photos tell of days gone by. Looking back at the memories we have created. Holding back the tears with mournful sighs. People missing from everyday life their absence understated.
*Just to be clear, this is a story* The morning light shines down, grey flat clouds filling the day. The sounds, the sights, the character of the city still glimmer everywhere. It seems wrong.
She carried my suitcase, Petite and round. Tears on her face, She lost and found. Her pride, Her sweetness, Her joy, Her weakness. And she stands tall, Just like she has before.
I woke from another dream, One of you and one of me, A happy past of laughter, Resting now in memory.
Along the sidewalk, Where the river flows, Pedestrians walk; come and go. The wispy branches of the oak, Drift as if provoked, And the raindrops from the sea, Fall and fall continuously.
June 13 1997 Dear Whoever is listening, it has been 3 months since it happened. At first I had to have therapy because mum said I turned strange.
I know i saw you before... You were lively, vibrant, full of hope and most encouraging... I believe you even created a strong foundation of God's masterpiece...
I remember the way you looked at me,. The way in which you were always smiling. The way you were always trusting with me,. Even though the problems kept compiling.
---Elisabeth's P.O.V--- I was upstairs in my bedroom, like always. Except this time I was actually kind of happy to tell you the truth.
Driving along. All too often. Flowers by the road. Heavy hearted. My mind full. Of tales of forebode. The road. Has taken. Yet another life. Some ignore. For others. It cuts like a knife. The flowers.
The day was dark As were your eyes Watching our cold breathe Freeze and crystallize In the summer When it grows warm again Will you live again. But for now just lay down and rest your weary head.
They say you never know, What you have until it's gone, You'll leave my life so suddenly, And I will feel so wrong.
Just heard the news, The worst, You passed away Today, Never got to say Goodbye, Thought you'd pull Through, Last I heard you had Improved, Then this afternoon, You died, So suddenly, Cancer can do...
Twenty five years Phil worked on the line Feeling fine Twenty more days Until Phil retires An industrial hero Twelve hours more Until twenty four Phil punched out Two miles drive Phil thought...
Again it comes, The day to remember, Your passing that day, Let our silence be the sender.
I wear a black dress made out of lace Standing in front of his final resting place I feel dead inside, too empty to feel Too detached to realise that any of it is real I place the flowers on the cold...
Sat on a bench with a notepad and pen. I sprawl down our fun that we had back then. Dancing together on a luscious night. Watching the sunrise, the yellow so bright.
Pain is my only friend. The only one who comes to see me. Sitting here forgotten. Like a discarded Kleenex. Nobody cares. Nobody worries. Heart shattered into a million pieces.
The sunrays wink through the window Bathing me with an enchanting light Waking me up from these everlasting dreams Of roses and rainbows, and your spellbinding delight I have been living a life...
Really tired of the same fucking routine. Every Tuesday go to work get off at four. Every fucking Tuesday I sit at the first table by the window, you can't miss it.
I wrote a letter to express my love, Ill care for you dearly even if I am doing so from above, I wrote these words in hope you'd never read them, But what did we expect when I entered this battle...
I was sat in maths, just like any other day, when he walked in. There was still the usual musty teenage smell, and John Barch's hideous teaching methods.