An Epistle to my Late Father

A letter of grievance addressed to my late father.

Dear Dad, the strife you have caused:

I look for you, though I find nothing.
I call out to you, though I receive no answer.
I reach out to touch you, though I touch nothing but the circulating air.

I cry out, and Mom comes to my rescue (or so I thought):

Though she tries, she can provide nothing found in my search.
Though she tries, she can provide no answer to my call.
Though she tries, she can provide nothing tangible for me to hold on to.

A cry, answered with another cry;
Where is the sense in that?

Yet that is the way of the world.
Never solving our mourning.
Only providing additional mourning.

Yes, this is the way of the twisted world we live in.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed