Native Tongue

My father speaks in a foreign language  
Experience drips from his laborious tongue
In his hands he holds some of the world
Crafting a picture a girl could not mould.

Once he falls quiet she is completely mute
He’s unveiled everything before his daily commute
A look of anticipation glistens in his eyes
When was she going to praise this wonderful guy?

Suddenly the earth is blazed in fire
Blackening the throat of all that transpire  
Because the language infected every bit of life
It made skulls click-clack endlessly in time.

Satisfied, he stands up suddenly
Pats her gently, face frozen in monotony
Eventually she hears no voice but her own
So she begins mouthing her native tongue.