To who you were
Tony to Most
Daddy to me
You loved me
I know you did
Even though you didn’t say it much
Some can’t say what they mean
Or what they feel
Did the war strip you?
Maybe the prison camp wiped away the memory
You told me they pointed a gun at your head
because you laughed at the wrong thing at the wrong time
Did the pain tell you things that weren’t true?
Did the drink hang a veil over your soul?
Everything screaming “love is a lie”
Or perhaps “It doesn’t reciprocate, it takes
And leaves you with less than you started with?
There were days I saw you content
You would whistle, and oh so effortlessly
Or you would drive hours to visit someone for a half hour
You tried desperately, but never could relax with people
I’m sorry you could never give what I know you had
For fear of losing all
I know you held it in
It was reserved for me
What you couldn’t express
I get it now, I feel it now
And I honor you and the memory
Of the love I had but never held.
Prompt: an elegy to honor someone and add a couple of unusual facts.