Category : Poems
Sub Category : N/A
Almost seven months to this day,
I saw my father for the last time,
And no, he has not met his demise
but he is quite the ghost to me.
He left when I was just a child
Yearning to make sense of the world,
And yes, my spirit warped by the day:
Somehow I am alive now.
Free from a life willed by the hug of a father,
The embraces he visibly desires
From a boy,
who never learned how to be his son.
Blood doesn't negate our unfamiliarity.