Whispers of the Missing Fathers

Whispers of the Missing Fathers by J.D. Ryder

In the quiet rooms where laughter dwelled, Echoes of footsteps softly tell, Stories of fathers, brave and true, Who left at dawn's light in skies of blue.

Their seats are empty, their tools at rest, Each corner speaks of how they were blessed. Children whisper, “When will he be home?” Mothers sigh; under the heavens, they roam.

Fields where they played, now silent and still, Dreams are unfulfilled; time cannot be refilled. Each photo is a story, a memory’s hug, Their presence is as close as a heart’s gentle tug.

They marched for peace, they fought for rights, Guardians of day and sentinels of night. But in battle's fierce and unforgiving tide, In service, they stood; in honor, they died.

Yet in each brave heart, their legacy thrives, Through turbulent storms, their spirit survives. For love is a bond that death cannot sever, Our heroes, our fathers, in our hearts forever.

So here’s to the missing, whose laughter we miss, Whose hands we remember, whose cheek we kiss. In the stillness of night, when the world's hushed and low, We feel them beside us, in the love they bestow.

Gone but present, a paradox so deep, In the quiet moments, through the veil, they peep. Ever watching, ever proud, ever kind, Missing fathers, in the winds of our minds.