A while back as I was getting older I suddenly realized that parents die (at some point).  Not a nice realization, but a true one.  When you are young you never even contemplate it, never mind imagine the day.  From my grandparents I began to realize that people with years of experience comes a lot of wisdom, and I began to take old people’s knowledge seriously.  I learned a lot.

Of course our parents shape us in more ways than we could ever imagine, though of course we do not realize it at the time.  My dad died over 5 years ago now, and I wonder what he would make of me now.  It is a good journey and thought process to go through, because I think it is important to live my life now in a way that would make him proud.  I am good with that.

That thought process led me to a new poem because poems I find are like London buses; as the old adage says you can wait an age for a bus before two turn up at once.

Through Dad’s Eyes

My son is a man
Who is growing old,
He reminds of stories that I forbode,
Forever to be told, and lives his story down the long winding road.

Don’t bite your tongue out,
See the 8489,
A train that is travelling down the long city line.
Be different I said resting my eyes, be you and be free
Be wise and be truthful,
Forgive, forget and let the light shine,
Be mindful, be yours and be mine.

Two words can never say enough
Two words cannot say all that I need,
What it is that he wants and where it leads,
Thank you is all I can say, you made and changed my way.

Certainly, a story that we knew had to be told,
Happiness he knows can only be only full when it’s shared,
So would you see then what I see now,
Or give something a way some way somehow.

His eyes tell stories of a grateful truth,
His wise words hide a misspent youth,
He knows the path that lies behind
And pays it forward in kind.