Post by buffysmglover on Sept 16, 2008 18:45:23 GMT -5
(Enjoy!)
Darkness was churning in the sky.
Tears fell on me, not a lie.
I knew there was something terrible coming
When Daddy ended his calm humming
And took his hand away from mine
To pull something from his hat
As a promise that the sun would soon shine.
I grinned when I glanced at the paper bird,
But when I sighted the train I couldn't utter a word.
Confusion had shattered his grasp on me,
But not to the extent of when I looked up to see
A tear fall down from Mommy's eye.
They hugged and kissed and it came to me
That our hug was Daddy's last goodbye.
He'd picked up his baggage rather quickly.
A nametag fell off; it read Charles Whitley.
Mine and Mommy's tears matched the pace of the rain,
Sniffles, a strange sound next to that of the roaring train.
Already I'd noted my feeling of dread,
Before there in my hands had been a brutal sight,
Daddy's paper bird then appeared limp, soaked, dead.
His little girl, I'll always be,
But he to me, just a memory,
And memories at that young age do fade,
As did the tears my eyes that day made.
All I have left is what Mother tells me,
The "Charles Whitley" on Daddy's nametag,
And pieces of paper, a small pile of debris.
Darkness was churning in the sky.
Tears fell on me, not a lie.
I knew there was something terrible coming
When Daddy ended his calm humming
And took his hand away from mine
To pull something from his hat
As a promise that the sun would soon shine.
I grinned when I glanced at the paper bird,
But when I sighted the train I couldn't utter a word.
Confusion had shattered his grasp on me,
But not to the extent of when I looked up to see
A tear fall down from Mommy's eye.
They hugged and kissed and it came to me
That our hug was Daddy's last goodbye.
He'd picked up his baggage rather quickly.
A nametag fell off; it read Charles Whitley.
Mine and Mommy's tears matched the pace of the rain,
Sniffles, a strange sound next to that of the roaring train.
Already I'd noted my feeling of dread,
Before there in my hands had been a brutal sight,
Daddy's paper bird then appeared limp, soaked, dead.
His little girl, I'll always be,
But he to me, just a memory,
And memories at that young age do fade,
As did the tears my eyes that day made.
All I have left is what Mother tells me,
The "Charles Whitley" on Daddy's nametag,
And pieces of paper, a small pile of debris.