In the darkest of rooms,

that’s all I’m left with.

Memories of you slowly fading with each day.


In the brightest afternoons,

I’m shielded by these wine tinted curtains.

Left to wonder; if you did it, surely I can too.


Or three and four,

Since I’m left to inspire the brethren.

A task impossibly large, even for this six footed membrane.


A mind now aware of it’s immense abilities,

is becoming prepared with increasing capabilities.

With big dreams, and a desire for skills to make them realities.



This poem is about my father. He always used to tell my brothers and I a story about his high school days, where a preacher would visit their school, and end his sermons with the statement that he now passed on to inspire us, his sons.