(no subject)
Title: Hero
Prompt: Hero
For: brigits_flame
Rating: PG
Genre: Poetry
Word Count: 314
Warnings: None
A/N: Unbetaed, it is bound to have errors!
When I walked through that door the smell of stale tobacco and strong whiskey hit me from a distance,
Those wrinkles were deep set into your face like pen to paper from your persistence,
Your old brown leather shoes look cold and worn,
They appear to be the same from in the photograph from when I was born,
Those stained trousers that hung loose on your thin and fragile frame need a clean,
You can’t bring yourself to let loose those memories from when you met; when you were fifteen,
The stairs creak with every step and the further I go,
I look back as you stood their below,
The smell of Chanel perfume still lingers in the air,
I don’t know if you’re still aware,
Your floral bedsheets have been kept the same; creased and worn with a putrid smell,
Letters to her scattered on the floor as you bid farewell,
Her collection of ‘Hollywood Red’ lipsticks and dainty shoes were lined up colour coordinated; untouched,
I laid my eyes on a beautiful painting from your wedding day that I clutched.
Nanna hasn’t come home in eight years grandpa but you still keep a smile,
The same record plays on repeat and you stand there for awhile,
This is how I remembered it from years ago, just not so dreary and cold.
Those memories have now become stale and old,
The top button from your tartan shirt is hanging by a thread,
You should write down these stories that are unsaid,
For Nanna isn’t coming home anytime soon,
Even though you cannot communicate she is still there, from midnight til noon,
Your loss has made you stronger, you help to fix other peoples hearts,
Without judgement or hesitation, you aren’t just spare parts,
We sit in silence in the garden drinking tea,
Even without words, you are still a hero to me.
Prompt: Hero
For: brigits_flame
Rating: PG
Genre: Poetry
Word Count: 314
Warnings: None
A/N: Unbetaed, it is bound to have errors!
When I walked through that door the smell of stale tobacco and strong whiskey hit me from a distance,
Those wrinkles were deep set into your face like pen to paper from your persistence,
Your old brown leather shoes look cold and worn,
They appear to be the same from in the photograph from when I was born,
Those stained trousers that hung loose on your thin and fragile frame need a clean,
You can’t bring yourself to let loose those memories from when you met; when you were fifteen,
The stairs creak with every step and the further I go,
I look back as you stood their below,
The smell of Chanel perfume still lingers in the air,
I don’t know if you’re still aware,
Your floral bedsheets have been kept the same; creased and worn with a putrid smell,
Letters to her scattered on the floor as you bid farewell,
Her collection of ‘Hollywood Red’ lipsticks and dainty shoes were lined up colour coordinated; untouched,
I laid my eyes on a beautiful painting from your wedding day that I clutched.
Nanna hasn’t come home in eight years grandpa but you still keep a smile,
The same record plays on repeat and you stand there for awhile,
This is how I remembered it from years ago, just not so dreary and cold.
Those memories have now become stale and old,
The top button from your tartan shirt is hanging by a thread,
You should write down these stories that are unsaid,
For Nanna isn’t coming home anytime soon,
Even though you cannot communicate she is still there, from midnight til noon,
Your loss has made you stronger, you help to fix other peoples hearts,
Without judgement or hesitation, you aren’t just spare parts,
We sit in silence in the garden drinking tea,
Even without words, you are still a hero to me.