Now I'm certain of my father's certainty
feel the feeling he also must have felt,
he smiled when he saw me and most certainly
at this point my childish heart began to melt.
He drove me to the hills on a sunday morning
in his car that smelled like cigarettes,
atop we watched the birds and trees in mourning
in front of the ruins' silhouettes.
As the sun crossed the river valley
my father put his hands down on his knees,
we walked back to the car through the alley
of the watching lines of oak trees.
In the car I left my only jacket
but I was glad to be at home,
in his hand my father held a packet
of cigrattes and a lighter covered in chrome.
I couldn't take my eyes off of his figure,
he gazed inside the house through the open door,
then turned and left with all his rigor
as I was walking down the floor.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Norman Möschter.Published on e-Stories.org on 08.10.2014.
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