Daddy Doesn't Pray Anymore

Each day I wake, coffee in hand, I slowly open the shutters, careful as the light peers through as not to blind me. I continue around the house, openin’ each shutter, till the light streams so purposely through the slits its illuminates the worn wood beneath my feet. Barefoot I stand, a little longer than normal. This has become my tradition of sorts, my weekday routine. As common as the daily prayer I pray, a bit repetitive in nature I suppose. I’ve always been told I’m my father’s child, never one to break routine or fancy the mornin’, my love of sorts born from his soul.

His soul, a concept odd in nature these days, these days I spend wonderin’. Was his soul as strong as past, his routine as common, his coffee as strong, his purpose as grand? I suppose I already know the answers. Even long away, his soul never could be extinguished. I find much comfort in the solemn of my daily routine. Content to look out the window as the light the light streams so purposely through. Each sips a new found blessin’. I wonder if he found the same in his.
‘Cause “Daddy doesn’t pray anymore.”

And so the songs fades.. It’s truth still evident.

{AD}: Song Reference 
You may also like:

Post a Comment

I respond to comments via email unless your email is unlisted. Then I'll respond via the blog. Thank y'all. Remember to always take the sweet tea!

© Design by MangoBlogs.