Father

The white walls creep up on me.

The center of the room holds the clean bed.

My dad lay there,

No breath of life escaped his lips

The sorrow and disbelieve washes over me

As I see his once smiling face as hard as stone.

The Funeral.

A cold and windy day.

Bleak and dark as it should be.

I sit under the tent,

Both shivering and mourning.

The soldiers fold up the flag,

In a perfect triangle.

Ashes to ashes,

And dust to dust,

My father is no longer with me.

He slips away,

To I hope a much better place.

I can never forget,

And I’ll always remember,

The days when we played and laughed and

Lived together.