Plea To My Future Father

Bear with me,
when my tired bones refuse
to dance to the youthful tune
of restless rage,
when age leaves me caged
in deathly glass-transparent prisons
reaching out for life, for vigour,
for a kindling fire.

Father, never forget this,
for when you are born,
I will hold you in my arms,
look deeply into the curiousity of your eyes
and whisper an identity unto you.

But soon,
I will be the one who needs cuddling
I will need eyes to look into my soul,
I will need sweet words to soothe
the hurting aches that wrap around
the brittleness of my worn bones,
I will need a father,
I will need you.