My Father
1
My father was
a tower bell
that tolled the hour,
a hammer against
the iron rings of time,
dry sand in an hourglass,
empty bottle of wine.
In life I could not
embrace his secrets.
When he died,
clouds wept,
birds mourned,
and the great clock
in the hallway stopped.
2
I saw my father's face
covered with dirt
his swollen lips bent
to meet horizon's
last gaze, kissing his way
to the land of the dead
A companion piece to the previous one, continuing the excavation. Instead of drawing any kind of easy conclusion, the mystery is revealed to be even more mysterious. Beautifully done, Paul. Both pieces.
The metaphors sing. "My father was a tower bell that tolled the hours". Love it.