The Vault
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This was his storeroom. An attic to most.
Holding the treasures of my lifelong host.
You see my dad, my closest friend.
I was with him till the very end when angels came
from lofty height to retrieve his soul one wretched night.
Years would pass before I could face
coming to his hiding place to remove things
mostly rusty and old yet treasures to him.
His silver and gold.
Tears falling on his dusty floor.
Knowing I would see no more.
The man who hugged me when I cried
from day one till the day, he died.
Gone are the tools, the books, the chairs.
All obtained at flea markets and fairs.
Gone are the dressers, the junk good or bad.
Gone long ago mom and now - my dad.
@JPiekiel
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