Teardrops by Ralph Jones

Ralph Jones
08/01/17 02:13:22AM
16 posts

as a young boy into manhood grew
he wrote a letter, to the father he never knew
it was his twenty first birthday, and many presents he had
but he would gladly swap them all, for the love of a dad

a father, he would never know
as from a boy, into a man he would grow
with only the love of a good mother
who would love him, like no other

at night, he would hear his mother weep
as he lay in his bed, unable to sleep
as to God, his mother would pray
to see her one true love, for one more day

as a young boy, he didn't understand
when he would creep into her bed, and gently hold her hand
and kiss her on the cheek, as the tear drops would flow
gently down her face, and onto the pillow

for he knew, a better mother no one could have
a mother, who had shown him nothing but love
a mother, who had always put him first
who had always fed and clothed him, always quenched his thirst

a thirst for knowledge, and education, and it came as no surprise
that as he grew older, he grew into a man who was truly wise
honest, and wise beyond his years
a man she would be proud of, she could see that through her tears

as he started to write, he recalled memories of times that were hard
of how he would play alone in the back yard
how he would play with his school friends, seemingly without a care
but always thinking that one day, his father would be there

he also recalled the time, as older he grew
that his mother told him something, that he already knew
she sat him down, and said there was something she must say
something that she had put off, until this day

she told him how the father, that he had never saw
was killed, fighting in the war
a war, that they said was politically motivated
a war, that the politicians initiated

as he sat quietly, taking this all in
he felt a tear drop rolling down over his cheek, dripping of his chin
leaving a smudge on the paper, as it dropped down from above
which he would look back on later, as a token of love

but as his mother spoke through quivering lips
and lovingly glancing at a photograph, held between her fingertips
a photograph, that she kept in a locket on a chain, close to her heart
that she would open and kiss, before the tear drops would start

she again wept, recalling a letter that started, sadly we regret
and ending with the words, killed by a sniper’s bullet
a letter printed, in a batch of thousands
none with the personal touch, none signed by hand

he recalled overhearing somebody once saying "how sad"
and saying “that poor child, he never knew his dad
a man who was killed in a faraway land
killed by a hidden gunman’s hand”

his mother told him, that the letter arrived
two days after she gave birth to a new life
cradling her new born baby, a baby his father never saw
all because the politicians, ordered a war

a man, she loved, with an undying passion
to gentle and kind, to be killed in this fashion
mown down, and to be placed in a body bag
brought home in a box, covered in a flag

his last journey, being driven through the streets
lined with mourners throwing flowers, as a hero they would greet
but all this, was of no comfort to the widow
knowing that her one true love, would never walk through her door

he thought of his own wife
had only just married, only just started their life
swore, that he would never go to war
vowed never to be sent into battle, never to be told what for

he looked up at his mother, and gave her a smile
with a lump in his throat, and a tear in his eye
a mother, who had given him so much
who had struggled, without a father's touch

a mother so dedicated, and so much love she gave
who the first time she took him, to see his father's grave
stood sobbing and trembling, as they stood there alone
as they laid flowers, and a tear drop fell, on the headstone

a headstone, like many, in many countries
prime ministers, and presidents would never see
the men who only ordered the wars
then turned their backs, on the horrors the soldiers saw

how many politicians, would send their own sons?
to be killed by a bullet, or a bomb, the answer is none
as they sit planning the next war in a secure room
as the soldiers are laid to rest, in a dark tomb

he finished the letter, and sealed it with a kiss
knowing, that no one would ever see this
for this was a letter, that he would never send
it wouldn't bring his father back, it wouldn't make the tear drops end

updated by @ralph-jones: 08/01/17 02:13:53AM