In memoriam, a father-like figure
Published in
Jul 10, 2021
Poem
My father always believed
Nothing is as it seems
That if you water barren minds
They can begin to grow dreams.
He told me how the sandal tree
Always scented the axe that fell it
And how the soul makes a man
That you could never sell it.
It’s always late when you decide
To say the words that were meant to be
To become half the man that he was
Was all I had ever wanted for me.
Now he’s become a scent in the air
Floating far away to some utopia
And I find strength in memories of him
Occasionally overcome by the nostalgia.
People who’ve never missed me so long
Now, have all started calling
When the wick has finally burned out
And the lamp has stopped shining.
