Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Mental Atrophy

My father is gone
Days have heaped in a pile
He left, but he left
His steady work in my chest
I did not mourn
For him, not for a while
My own demons
Shadowed me
Closer to comfort

My father is gone
Run off to the forest
He left me instructions
Never to laugh
Never to cry
Never to feel
The drums in my heart
He told me
Never to work
Never to covet
That which I lack

My father is gone
Days heaped in a pile
I await his return
Not that he will
Be coming back



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