Tag: Dads

I hold
What seems to be
Time’s cruel carelessness.
A hand that masks itself
Under coats,
Though wasn’t the cold to tremble
His fingers,
But fear.

Age
Wants him to move
To a place
Where a future can prove
Everlasting.
A broken man,
A hollow man
Who stains the air with his stare,
Sunken in sickness.

Love
Moves him to a place
Where slowness breathes for him,
Fading him,
Keeping him in the arms
Of a one who knows to caress
Shoulders that bleed for shoulders,
Swipe tears that yearn for hands
Of utmost comfort.

Tides carry him
Towards seasons of cold,
Where blood can run so old.
To warmth’s remaining concealment
Of a patient son
Who can fold his arms around
His dying father,
Can set him apart from the winter.

To hope’s return
Where ongoing life
Can remain.

Tiredness
Speaks more upon the sunken lips,
Than the grave to welcome him
Under the iron that has stilled
Like the halting train.
For I feel no pulse
To take him on
Past the feathers in his eyes,
Past the weather on his cheeks.
For all peace,
With every morsel of his age
Has lasted him
Until breathing moments
Come undone.

Lakes
With canoes to ripple us past
Certain moments of history,
Leak me, the pleasantry
Of a thousand more nuances
I could now favor.

With eyes cast for oceans
Of tidal waves to emotion,
I stand here,
Counting the cracks in his palms,
Forcing the storms away
From his side.

A bleeding man
Whose comfort now resides
In the wilted universe,
Of a death, where no sighs
Come unheard.