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