The Father

Little you wake up
a grotesque dream
a pungent nightmare

In darkness
the walls stare
you lay there with no one to take care
he is long gone
the days have passed when you mourned
they say, “time heals”
but your wounds aren’t sealed
memories creep in
and the wounds are peeled

At 2 you wake up
enveloped with sweat
the nightmare you have met
your palms cup your face
the little you all alone in this maze

You miss his presence
your life’s essence
a man you remember
your hands reach for the phone
his number is on speed dial
its starts to ring
and a voice pours out
you are still
silent
listening to the voice attentively
as he comforts you
and tells you
Father is here.

For Vincent Van Ross and the little girl she knows.

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4 responses to “The Father

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