Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Years Against the Morrow

Poppy, pa, where has he gone? Why did he leave us? Didn’t he believe us? His pain and his sorrow the years against the morrow… These unfair questions that nag us and drag us. His princess his bride, his jewel and his pride… returned to the earth… What was she worth? For him more than life and even his children, he said to himself “my wife or my burdens?”… He chose his choice and it was for eternal rejoice. But couldn’t he have made another? If not but for a while? Just live on that limb which we all knew was denial? He couldn’t, he didn’t, he would’ve if he could, I now know when that day comes that I really should. He gave and he gave so we knew of his heart lest you’d need a pick to unlock it or tear it apart. He was my father, the one I never had, he is my model for being a dad. In reading my writing I see ghosts of his words, fluttering in the distance like migrating birds. Just as he chased after her that was fleeting now I too face a world in which I am bleeding. Time heals wounds but it also leaves scars, sutures and stitches emotional mars. I am his son, I am his legacy, I stand on his shoulders and now… well, let us see…

Thursday, February 10, 2011


I feel compelled to feel compelled to create but I don't feel compelled to create though I take gratification in its accomplishment.