Poetry (words)

My father’s pen

A pile of letters from a time gone by. From my father’s pen to my mother’s eyes. They smell like books from a favourite shelf, tattered in places not unlike myself. 

The ribbon that gathers them tightly is blue, stained with history’s adornments all of them true. 

I’ll never be closer than where I am now, to this wonderful gift I am tethered somehow. I can see where the ink flowed a little too fast, but time is reflected in all that has passed. 

I know every word on every page, the tear stained blots, the passion, the rage. My fathers pen, my mothers eyes, both still now, but still so alive. 

 

Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s