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Dad, you're my heroWith a nod and a smile, the father gives praise,
To his son who, with confidence, holds a picture up raised.
The boy cocks his head, and a frown appears,
Something's not right, he scratches his ear;
Suddenly he brightens and scribbles a note,
And his father leans forward to see what he wrote.
"Dad you're my hero" the awkward text read,
And the father plants a kiss on the top of his head.
Twenty years Later, the boy's moving home,
His father is dying, and doesn't want to be alone.
The boy steps into the small hospital room,
Not much time left, he'll be dying soon.
With quite a big effort, the father sits up,
And asks for some water in a Styrofoam cup.
The boy hands it to him, and the older man drinks,
And thanks him with a smile and a wink.
After a pause, the father clears his throat,
And pulls out a picture of two men in a boat.
" Kept this in my pocket, since you were ten,"
"Never had anything as dear since then."
Want you to have this, won't do me any good,"
Soon I'll be buried in a
True LoveTrue Love
True love is the feeling, that warms you deep inside,
When the first time that you meet,
You catch each other's eye.
True love is the knowledge, that relationships are hard,
But realizing very well,
You could never be apart.
Honesty, the heart of truth, lets open her gentle arms,
To catch and hold the laws of God and ponder every one.
But in the dark and black of sin, a lie hides his face,
From the light and warmth and soothing call, of the sanctity of grace.
When honesty tries to show herself, the lie beneath attacks,
and tries to cover up the truth, but she valiantly fights back.
With ferocity and latent spite, the lie fights to the death,
an easy win, it hopes to gain, truth will be overcome.
But in it's triumphant dance and cry, truth rises once again,
and lays hold upon her sword and shield to finish the deadly fight.
As the sin raises up his arm, to receive his master's praise,
Truth, though wounded, strikes again, and shines through the dirty haze.
The lie, once stronger, is now the weak, and trembles at truth's feet,
And truth, the winner, on bended knee, accepts the golden crown;
And humbly thanks the Lord her God, for the battle she has won.
Ancient hands, gentle, fine,
Crooked fingers laced in mine,
Wizened gaze, tired, worn,
Slightly happy, glazed, forlorn.
Lines that time has softly laced,
Form the visage, that perfect face,
One knows and trusts since they were young,
That made them feel loved welcome.
Years have faded, time has gone,
Too fast perhaps tho' days seem long,
Soon the world will fade as well,
Ancient mouths no tales will tell.
Hope to pass on gracefully,
Remembered fondly .lovingly,
'Tis thoughts of these that make them glow,
Their happiness within them shown.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More