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.
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
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