Dear Father

is it true the blood coursing through my veins
is drunken in your hollow name
the name for which merit to whom shall I offer
you have gambled yours away for a pile of sand
by the wretched summer when one seeks shelter
I have no roof above my head
and with my belly exposed to the sun, I cry O father
what in god’s name have you done
in whose grand tutelage do the courts verdict
the loathsome acts you have me intended against
was it the alpha of the two whose cold blood
and cunning for brick and mortar sways true
or was it simply the cold-blooded bent of a father
be that as it may, I desire not your stone
neither your silver is of any appeal
that and all can be compounded for the son of alpha
for I have read long tales about unconditional sentiment
but laughably enough none can be ascribed to you
so when nature’s torrid face turns itself to dust
barren of love and human touch
father you may beckon on no one to bear your ashes
and the merit of this is whose save mine to boast

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4 thoughts on “Dear Father

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