— two stories, one silence —

---

A father…

takes down a photograph

not gently

not carelessly

but like it still breathes

like it still holds warmth

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

He presses it
to his chest

the same way he once held
his child

close

safe

whole

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

He remembers her…

the sound of her laughter

how it filled rooms
without trying

how sunlight seemed
to follow her

like it knew
she belonged to it

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

A twinkle in her eye

chasing butterflies
like the world
was nothing but wonder

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

And he remembers that moment—

when she told him
what she’d become

the pride

Heartful… the pride

that lived in his chest

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

He smiled

he kissed her goodbye

like fathers do

like it’s just another day

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

But war…

war doesn’t recognise love

it doesn’t pause

it doesn’t care

about laughter
or butterflies
or fathers

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

It writes its own ending

in smoke
in fire
in silence

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

And sometimes…

daughters come home

but not as they left

not with laughter

not with light

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

but wrapped

in something heavier

than any father
should ever have to carry

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

And somewhere else—

another father

stands with another photograph

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

This one…

his son

… 👨‍👦🖼️ …

He remembers strength

growing year by year

small hands
becoming steady

a boy

becoming a man

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

Laughter that echoed

not soft

but full

alive

… 👨‍👦🖼️ …

He watched him grow

with pride

with hope

with that quiet belief

that everything

would be alright

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

because that’s what fathers do

they believe

even when the world
gives them reason not to

… 👨‍👦🖼️ …

And when life twisted—

when the path turned

when things became uncertain

he stood there

steady

unmoving

supportive

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

because love

doesn’t step back

… 👨‍👦🖼️ …

But war…

war doesn’t ask
who is loved

it doesn’t choose gently

it doesn’t spare

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

It takes

and takes

and takes

… 👨‍👦🖼️ …

And sons…

they come home too

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

but not always whole

not always smiling

not always the same

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

sometimes carrying

things no one can see

sometimes leaving

pieces of themselves

behind

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

And in the quiet—

in the stillness
after everything

there are fathers

holding photographs

like they’re holding
time itself

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

remembering

what was

what should have been

what will never

be again

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

because love…

doesn’t end

even when everything else

does

… 👨‍👧🖼️ …

— Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

A father sits with memories held in fragile frames, where love, pride, and loss intertwine. Through the silence of absence, his children still live on—in laughter remembered and in a heart that never let’s go. The first time I wrote this poem was while still in service, as a reflection of the parents of our lost friends. This is a fresh rewrite in a spoken poetry tone.

#SpokenWordPoetry #FathersLove #InMemory #BritishForces #PoetryOfLoss #HeartfeltWords