Friday, June 19, 2015


THESE OLD WINDOWS                                       mcvicker 2015

When dust had settled,
the smoke had moved on.
Both sides, befuddled,
and no one had won.

Giving up the wishes, demands, and malaise,

Nothing was left, for Father
but to watch,the course, 
his life would run.
Eager, I left the haze.

The last time I saw him

we sat together, at restaurant table.
I hadn't been fit,
nor was he able.
He sat quiet, and stared at me.

His voice, was kept silent,

yet his eye's screamed to me,
"I'm trapped in this body,
and time won't relent.
I'm leaving soon, as you can see."
Feeling uneasy, I squirmed like a boy,
forced, to stay in one place.
Still, he sat quiet, and stared at me.
and looked, deep, deep studying my face.

Age had set in with it's laughing, last word

In my early years, unless for trouble, 
he was seldom heard.
A family of five, earning a living had been hard.
I understood all too well.
Working for others and biting your tongue.
Weariness would eventually tell
the story I was not to discard.

Through our windows we looked at each other.

Pains of glass, scratched, dirty. frosted, 
filled with steam, frozen and written upon by shattered winter's dreams.
Opened and shut in all of the weather.
Darkened and lit, just to see better.
Finally, he whispered, "Now I can see,
Son, you're just like me." 

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