When I was younger, my Father spent most of his time working. He worked numerous jobs at one time. The way he spent time with us was to take us with him to his evening and weekend jobs. We had fun, so we never looked at it as work. It was a chance to hang out with him. Later, when he used to pick me up from work and it was just he and I, we would ride in silence. Though he seldom expressed his love, I knew it was there. I wrote this when I was reflecting on his love.
Some words go unexpressed,
Lying quietly inside a man’s breast.
He hesitates to express his feelings
For fear he will be thought of as less.
Feelings choke his chest,
Begging to be expressed.
Lying in the deepest portals of his soul
Growing cold as the years make him old.
Others think he doesn’t care,
But there are words he cannot share.
Inside is where they remain.
Preventing cleansing which comes with new rain.
Inwardly, he exalts with words unspoken.
And makes promises that will never be broken.
Though, his words may go unexpressed.
Silently, he wishes you his best.
copyright P. Newman-Harris