Within the quiet hours of the day,
A memory lingers, doesn't fade away.
A man of wisdom, with a heart so kind,
My grandpa dear, a treasure I find.
Through wrinkled hands and silvered hair,
He carried stories, burdens to bear.
A lullaby whispered, a comforting song,
In his gentle gaze, where I belonged.
The garden we planted, a shared delight,
His laughter echoing through the night.
With tales of yesteryears, he'd regale,
A ship of memories set to sail.
But time, a thief, stole his vibrant glow,
Leaving echoes in the fading afterglow.
Frailty touched his once sturdy frame,
Yet, in his eyes, the same love aflame.
The clock's relentless ticking drum,
A reminder of days that had succumbed.
Each tick, a heartbeat, a moment passed,
A symphony of memories, fading fast.
As shadows lengthen, and daylight wanes,
A tearful melody of whispered refrains.
The echo of his laughter, a distant shore,
Grandpa, a legend, forevermore.
Through teardrops that silently cascade,
His presence lingers in the memories made.
In the hush of the evening, I softly weep,
For the grandpa's love, so tender and deep.
In the canvas of time, his portrait remains,
A moments of love, where sorrow restrains.
About the Creator
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Michel Onfray
"La fiction de Jésus n’a été nourrie que de mots, de couleurs, de pierres, de livres, de chants. Le Christ est une invention des hommes qui a nécessité la confiscation de l’art pour rendre possible une incarnation." The fiction of Jesus was nourished only by words, colours, stones, books, songs. Christ is an invention of men that has required the confiscation of art to make possible an incarnation. Michel Onfray, from Cosmos
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Comments (1)
You create a sense of nostalgia and longing in the very first stanza. The image of a memory that "lingers, doesn't fade away" suggests that your grandfather's love is still very much alive in your heart.