The Little Things
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To my father
Our home feels very different,
Family life must still go on.
Caught in a void of shapeless thoughts,
It’s our faith that keeps us strong
For it’s the little things that hurt,
And the words that once were spoke.
No chance of consolation,
Gone forever up in smoke.
Do we ever know someone?
Or is only the veneer.
What beats beneath the surface,
Remains to most unclear.
In the choices that we make,
At the time seem set in stone.
As we go upon life’s journey,
More and more we seem alone.
What once were vibrant colours,
That makes up our daily lives.
As one season comes then goes,
One by one the light declines.
Eternal life is promised,
By our saviour and our friend.
In this ever-changing world we live,
There to meet us at the end.
N Windle © 2017
Copyright © Nicholas Windle | Year Posted 2017
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