Remembering my father

All these years
         that you have been gone
your roses have continued to grow
         I do not need to close my eyes
to see you clearly
         your own blue eyes
that retained a shade of sadness
         even when you smiled
that fleeting smile of yours
         from which an ever so slight
hint of pain was never absent
         as though it somehow
pained you to smile
         I remember your creative hands
with which you worked the clay
         and which over the years
became discoloured
         the patches caused by the leakage
of red blood cells into the skin
         I remember the compulsion
with which you constantly
         had to clear your throat
and I remember your silence
         your great love of silence
the silence of which
         you could never get enough
I remember you sitting there
         in your never-ending silence

John Lyons