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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1491843
Rated: E · Poetry · Biographical · #1491843
About my Father
It sits a little crooked, it rocks a little strange.

It reclines under protest, it's covered in old stains.

The fabric is worn and faded, the cushions are molded and torn.

It's footstool is almost broken, it was used since the day I was born.

I remember you sitting in it, My minds eye will never forget.

coffee on the right of you, for you to sleep there was a safe bet.

It is a reminder of simpler days, of times when life was free.

And now I feel the pressure of things you tried to warn me.

When life is just too much for my feeble mind to bear

I can climb into that haven, The comfort of your old Chair.

Dad you were a pillar of stone that helped me stand.

I only wish I'd taken more time to listen and less with my demands.

Now I have this memorial not metal or brick or stone.

I have a Worn out recliner, that lets me feel not so alone.

© Copyright 2008 Altaire Aurelius (altaire at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1491843