My Grandfather’s Diary

This was a time
to respect his silence,
his diary opened
on the day’s date,
a cup of tea,
a burning candle,
his pocket watch
placed at arms length
and his treasured
fountain pen.

His eyes close
for a while,
opening the doors
of his complex mind,
testing his memory,
polishing the words
he would never share.
For a moment,
the silence is interrupted
with a sip of cold tea.

His touch to paper
is gentle, as though
writing on air.
And as the candle flame
spread undefined shadows
across the room,
he writes in whispers,
his pen bleeding his heart
onto the page, renewing
his day.

©️ Rowland Hughes