Pictures In The Attic

My Dad is gone, with both my parents dead

I stumble in attempts to catch my breath

And must remember how- and what they said

I was allowed to do upon their death.

The pictures in the attic, with much more;

The keys to let me step inside the past,

Their correspondence written way before

They built the chance to hold each other fast.

Each box I find a magic treasure chest-

A thousand jewels held up to the light.

I cannot take my leave from this and rest,

Far worth, for me, another sleepless night.

This is my mission, puzzle pieces, charms;

And keepsakes, some of which they kept from me-

They’re with me now and wrap me in their arms

With every single gift that I can see.

I lived by faith, but now my hopes are proved,

I come from love, these pictures cannot lie,

So from now on I’ll live with doubt removed-

And never fear the love in me will die.

John H. Bidwell