Dust
Box of old, from a life before
Of a life, with life, full of some forgotten
Memories emerge, past of pictures and paper
Children and Parents, those folks
To dive in is to invite the feel
I needed the remind
Not expected, those waves, stirring
Bloody Dust

The old man is there, bloody good bloke
Drops on the keyboard
Of words not spoken, but looks shared
Would it have been so hard, to have the say
To let some flow, to let love show
But he’s gone now, heartbreak in a box
Of words unspoken
Bloody Dust

He taught me how, without the speaking
To make calloused hands, just like his
Shovel and axe, sharp knife for the skinning
Weld for plough, post for fence
Look after Mum
Do your best, to be a good bloke
He left me a lot, before I knew
Bloody Dust
 

He stays in my keep, helps the days, in his ways
He still makes me laugh, twinkle from his eyes, I remember
Got my own young feller now, bloody good bloke
Got to remember, to have the say
Don’t leave love unspoken
Not to leave the welling unshed
Don’t be afraid,….
of that, Bloody Dust.

Nice poem .

Very well expressed.

Thanks for sharing.

NICE

Dust of Eyes,
Can be cleanser by Water.
but the dusty mind & heart,
Inspite of Passer Bloody Cells,
Nothing can Clear,
Soul of inner impure...........Robin