Father is sick
It's damp in the moldy shed. I'm holding my father's warm hand. As I hold his hand I feel the heat slowly fade away. I see that my father is becoming weaker as time goes on.
The burial day
As I look down at my fathers cold dead body I feel lost. When I look at his lifeless corpse I feel tear less, sad, full of rage. I can hear people speak about him, I hear someone say he's in a better place and that made me feel happy. As we walk, I know that I shouldn't look at what's behind but focus on what's in front of me, It's the future that matters.
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