The Silence of My Father’s Study


Golden sunlight
Texture of old parchment
Sun beams of dust motes dance in noiseless ecstasy
Filtering through gauze curtains faded yellow
Books those silent soldiers
Guardians of his space
Gilt edged and worn
Orphaned from other shelves
Collected and caressed in love
They stand in silent adoration.
Mute testimony to his affection
Their pages filled with unspoken words
Congested verbosity in choking dust.
I lie on carpet waiting in silence
Watching dust motes dance
I breathe heavy dust filled air
Hoping to catch an essence of
The man who is my father.
I wait, I hope
But he has gone, battles to fight
Souls to save
People more interesting than I
Yet waiting in vain hope
That on his return he will love me more than these
So father and I
Confined in similar space
In the silence of his study
Familiar bond collapsing under falling dust
I learn my place
Behind these guardians of his space

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