Guarding like a totem, as a remnant
His highlander-bottle keeps black watch:
The legacy of paternal inheritance.
The whiskey-hollow harmonic echoes
Ageless, though the neck is a dry riverbed.
The man stands tall, peripheral on the shelf.
A blind gaze as solemn as one last breath.
He attracts dust while his old notes nestle
In the deaf ears of the dead, captured
Only in the fleeting memory of ashes.
But together they remember, pulseless:
The booming, stubbled laughter; that gulping thirst.
Now it lurks within the veins like a vocation.
The path carved out in the family tree,
Repeated like a shared prophecy.
A relic from the early schism.
Only rose falls close the lifelong call.
Too soon we dull with Sunday bells tolling
And decay with our unshakeable faults,
Bearing them like gifts for an afterlife.