If it is said that a picture is worth a thousand words,
Where does that leave a wall covered in picture frames of every shape and size...?
Just like the people within the frames.
Young, old, smiling, serious.
Each face tells a story.
Each story touches a heart.
That heart was my father's.
It is these photos he saw both day and night --
When he first opened his eyes in the morning
And when he closed them at night.
It was his wall of naches, his wall of pride.
The generations before him.
The generations after him.
A life well lived.
I looked at that wall today.
The wall between the bed and the dresser,
also covered in frames of every shape and size.
The wall was full.
The bed was empty.
4 comments:
Oh, such a sad ending - although perhaps bittersweet would be a better word, once you reread the poem. After all, it was a life 'well-lived', full of loved ones who will remember him, full of pride - what more can we ask for?
And yet, the sadness. This poem really resonates with me. I lost my mother a few years ago, and the last two lines of this poem are sublime, in my opinion:
The wall was full.
The bed was empty.
So simple, so direct, so true. It's quite shocking, that final contrast between wall and bed. All the framed pictures in the world can't make up for the missing essence of the one we love.
tears in my eyes, pearl. some serious tears in my eyes! your words are always poignant and draw the image right to me. thanks for sharing this and if it's in honor of a direct loss, i am so sorry to hear it and am sending you all of the good thoughts in the world!
I bet he's looking down with pride on your own wall. He was one well loved dad.
So beautiful. Thanks for bringing tears to my eyes.
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