Rocking

In a dimly lit room,
he rocks in his chair
looking through unwashed panes
at the gray gathered there

the gray of the clouds
is the shade of his hair
they take on the shape
of his life of despair

his children long gone
forsaking his care,
ran to places unknown
they won't tell him where

or give him any reason
for their flight, so he stares
and he rocks, and he creaks
wheezing into thin air

the string of his seat
has frayed and worn bare,
as day after day
he whispers a prayer

"Help them forgive Lord,
the ways I have erred.
Let their hearts know
how precious and rare

were the times we spent laughing
the moments we shared,
though too few and infrequent,
echoes still fill the air."

He rocks, bows his head,
starts to sob, his heart tears
as the rain washes over
his conscience laid bare.

They found him expired
still aseat in that chair
In each hand he had clutched
a small shock of hair.