The Man Who Carried the Sky

They say heroes wear capes,

But mine wore tired hands and dusty shoes.

He never spoke of strength,

Yet he lifted mountains I could never choose.

I remember his silence—

not empty, but full of meaning.

Every wrinkle on his face was a story

of sacrifice quietly screaming.

He taught me how to dream

when the world felt too heavy to hold.

He was the shield between my fears

and the storms I never told.

I saw him wake before the sun

and rest long after the moon had died.

His laughter was rare,

but when it came, it felt like pride.

I never said it enough—

how much I loved him.

Because love for a father

isn’t always loud, it’s often hidden within.

Now, when life feels unbearable,

I remember his calloused hands.

Hands that built a future for me,

hands that turned dust into golden lands.

He is not just my father,

He is the quiet strength behind my voice.

And if I could live a thousand lives,

I would still choose him—

my first hero, my last choice.

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