On earth, my father, loved to sing
and strum upon the lyre.
On guitar too; he was self-taught,
he'd play till he'd perspire!
But he grew tired, when work did taint
his spirit bright and shining.
Was wearied by this wayward world
of woe and mindless mining.
So, when his bones could bear no more
the darkness that was falling
his soul succumbed to sounds above:
sweet angel choirs were calling!
And so he died, but left for me
a legacy to cherish:
a grief, to last me all my life,
that will not part or perish.
And this does truly comfort me:
his soul has ceased from seething.
He plays guitar on brighter shore,
where beauty he is breathing!
-
Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 2nd, 2018 05:18
- Comment from author about the poem: Dedicated to my dad, who I never really knew, since he died when I was a child.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 57
- User favorite of this poem: Lorna.
Offline)
Comments2
Very good write, he is with you and you will hear him playing his guitar for you in the silence.
Beautifully touching.. made me think of when my Dad died and how we had to turn our immediate attention to my mother who had Alzheimer's so we hardly had time to grieve at that moment. And it's now - years later that he comes back every day to visit. I miss him dreadfully - he was the quiet and kind one and those attributes become stronger and stronger as time goes by.......
Thank you Lorna. I appreciate your kind response. My father died many years ago, but it's only now, through my poetry, that I can really express my pent up grief. I have a few old black and white photos and a recording of a record (vinyl ) he cut. It was a cover of that old Drifters song, Save the last dance for me... along with memories. Again, many thanks. 😊
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