I stood there, stunned. Unable to speak, as my conscience cracked the whip of chastisement against my cruel ego, Telling me how heartless I was for mocking him as an emo boy. I'd seen him, with flowers in his hand. Father's day was due, and that was his presentation to his old man. 'Ha! What an idiot! Flowers? For your father?? Ma**a, why, you be gay or somtin?' Every breath a bullet, My tongue was a terrible trigger as I fired him with the cruellest of words, But, silence, the unspoken language, was the response, he didn't utter a word. No, he just walked away, while I laughed with scorn. Now, twenty minutes later, I stood there, slapped by guilt. Compa**ion blasting my nasty nature to miniature size As I looked into the cemetery, and saw him. Kneeling in front of a tomb. Flowers on top. Tears playing rainstorms upon cemented lands of the deceased, Really there was no need for anybody to tell me that was his father. I knew. I walked in to the dreaded place that every human being at the appointed time is eventually going to stay, He looked up, hearing my footsteps and saw a face. The face of a guy who had half an hour ago riddled him with ridicule, The face of a guy now repentant of his folly and audacity to act arrogant and cynical, There was no need for words, As visual pleas for forgiveness were accepted by his tear-filled optics. I knelt beside him, put my arm around his shoulder, and together, we wept.