Autobiography Of A Face

It was the eyebrows
And the eagle eyes that lie just under them

Kind and wise
Intimidating when the need arose
Always when my cousin’s and I were rife with potential mischief

But always kind
Tired, maybe?

You could never tell.
You could try and stare the truth out of him
But he would always win that contest

Especially when he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
Which was almost always

It’s hard to say what I miss the most
I recall so fondly, but only as a faded memory

Strange, that I can recall his eyes with full clarity.

I recall also, the look of pain
As his body waged war on him during the summer of ’96
Multiple tours in two continents; including Normandy and the Ardennes
And his body became his worst enemy

He died on a Thursday


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