An Epistle to my Late Father

My father died 14 years ago. Now, I am getting around to writing a poem on his behalf.

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 search.

Though she tries, she can provide no answer to my call.

Though she tries, she can provide nothing tangible for me to grasp.

 

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 for additional mourning.

 

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

Author's Note

It's been a while since I've written some deep poetry, so cut me some slack.

Reviews

[Cool Girl]

This was really good! The words were so passionate and full of meaning..