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Sonnet Father Poems | Sonnet Poems About Father

These Sonnet Father poems are examples of Sonnet poems about Father. These are the best examples of Sonnet Father poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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STILL THE WORST JOB EVER

       Still the Worst Job Ever


How do I hold thee, let me count the ways.
I hold thee trembling, beneath kitchen sinks
crouched in the darkness of the brightest days
guiding thy beam as his patience shrinks.

I hold thee dulled by lightning’s fearsome flash
shakily awaiting  unseen anger
tortured by the inevitable crash
intrigued by the neediness of danger.

I hold thee wide eyed in dirt-floored cellar 
your flame slow flickering on edge of sight
dimming through the range of yellowed color
draining the darkness from a darkened night.

I hold thee, for my brothers all have fled
I hold thee, not knowing what they dread.



11/13/2014
Submitted for - Sara Kendrick -  Jobs – Poetry Contest


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Gratitude

The pool grows green through the leaf cover.
Large pears hang upon ancient tree.
Mocking Bird sings chanting to his lover;
As the dew sparkles, like water in the sea.

Crepe Myrtle has turned red how time has passed.
Moma admired some trees said they were pretty.
Daddy dug up  a few runners, oh! memories from past.
In most things, think of daddy how witty__

Daddy brought (them) here to brighten moma's life
To give her something pretty to enjoy.
Today I enjoy them, this is reallife.
Now as I look at them they are my buoy

Clouds are coming in hiding the sun rays
But their light and life brightens my days_

For Nancy's contest;

Contest name: Gratitude


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My Father and the Staff of Life

`                                                                

How strangely life will turn around, reverse, then come again
I remember how he would tiptoe in, from a warm and downy bed
He’d  wink at me, then beckon me, while twinkling stars peeked in
In kitchen light, a bite to eat, a midnight snack, he said

I would pour the milk, and he would smile, then carefully tear the bread
The staff of life, a simple thing, these two small bowls of wheat
My Dad and I, the broken bread, with milk on top, or cream instead
A bit of sugar or honey dripped, to make it slightly sweet

Such a little thing, so comforting, and helped us both to sleep
And in my care, his dwindling  years…especially at the end
He was fading then, no appetite, few foods that he could eat
Soft bread I’d make, with milk poured in, would help us think of then

I’d sit upon his bed and talk, and help him spoon some in
The things in life turn inside out,  somehow come back again


-------------------------------------------------------------
For the Contest: Sponsored By Regina Riddle "Intimate Relationships"


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Nikan

Inspired by;  Constance La France’s Native American Portrait 


Nikan is a man who once stood proud and true all across this land
in symbiotic relation with nature endowed by the great creators hand
passed onto him by his ancestors to never take more than his fair share
and always be kind to this land for it’s the Mother to all whom she shall bare

When times are lean we all will grow thin together for together we are one
with one voice to sing in harmony for bountiful harvest to our Father the Sun
and give him thanks and praise for warming and making fertile our Mother
who blessed new life into the birthing seasons for every Sister and Brother

Great spirit hear my song of hope that I sing for my people who will cry
we are mighty on the earth give us protection or your children they will die
and our people’s blood will flow upon our Mother like deep rivers of raging red
O’ Father I can see no solution will you spare us from the white mans dread 


I could never make claim to imagine this great man’s woeful sorry or despair
Nikan's song is a lonely tune played for the spirit of his people upon the air.


Nikan traslation from the Potawatomi "MY Friend"

Baamaapii Nikan.......until we meet again my friend


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Sweetly Fragrant

Sitting under the pale pink running rose
At the end of a beautiful Autumn Day
Searching for inspirational sonnet to compose
For my love who lives in heaven's  way

To me He's like a honeysuckle vine
Blooming in the month of May
Sweetly fragrant essence among the pines
He's like the gold of mountains that's refine

To me He's like the babbling brook
Sweetly singing in tune
For everything in heaven He forsook
Fo prove His love for me is beyond the moon

Words cannot describe my love for Him
But daily I'll try to draw close in His realm


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BIG MOUTH BASS

      Big-Mouth Bass
An April morning, as the climbing sun
tipped up in sight, and lit the coming day
and colored red, after a storm was done,
I cast my plug, a stinger--red and gray--

to where it looked the likely place to me,
where hides the hog--from minnows swimming by;
then feeds upon those minnows, carelessly,
as pops the sun into the morning sky.

Upon the water, mirrored flat and still,
I raise the wake, so slight--then let it lay;
and cranking in, so slowly then until
I hear the chomp--that warns he's set to play!

   And all the minnows cheer me in my quest
   of battle with my most unwilling guest!
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet


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FATHER

FATHER
Which love is not a struggle to the mind?
'tis easier to think love glides along,
regardless of a road not there to find,
or never caring what is right or wrong.

One love, of child, a father's steady hand,
protecting innocence, through many years
as if he knew the way, and had it planned,
to heal each mortal wound as it appears.

As if all things begin with his okay,
the good, the joy of life to build upon;
demanding right, and hoping in some way
he's always with you, even when he's gone.

The banged up knee, your losing of a friend,
are yours to feel, but his to comprehend.
© RON WILSON AKA VEE BDOSA


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Deathbed Sonnet

And even after all that time had passed;
            my moon had set above another sun,
it seems my heart was still at odds with past;
            my tongue at war with words I left unsung.

This bed of ardor caught between my teeth,
            will thus remain, and even grow post haste,
where all the while, there's nothing I'll bequeath 
            excepting flowers scent, above my waste.

And so it goes with every vacant beast,
            as twenty-twenty sees - I should have done!
I should have said; I should have been, at least
            a man awake to seed his endless sun.

And as the night descends upon my thought,
            remember son these words that, I lived not.




© Kristin Reynolds 3 11 09


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Father Christ' Parables -Good Shepherd

The Good Shepherd
Christ is the True Shepherd
JN 10:1-18
"Amen, amen, I say to you, whoever does not enter a sheepfold through the gate but climbs over elsewhere is a thief and a robber. 
But whoever enters through the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens it for him, and the sheep hear his voice, as he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. 
When he has driven out all his own, he walks ahead of them, and the sheep follow him, because they recognize his voice. 
But they will not follow a stranger; they will run away from him, because they do not recognize the voice of strangers." 
So Jesus said again, "Amen, amen, I say to you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came (before me) are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. 
Whoever enters through me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. 
A thief comes only to steal and slaughter and destroy; I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.
 I am the good shepherd. A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. 
A hired man, who is not a shepherd and whose sheep are not his own, sees a wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away, and the wolf catches and scatters them. 
This is because he works for pay and has no concern for the sheep. 
I am the good shepherd, and I know mine and mine know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I will lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. 
These also I must lead, and they will hear my voice, and there will be one flock, one shepherd. 
This is why the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down on my own. 
I have power to lay it down, and power to take it up again. This command I have received from my Father." (Taken from JN 10:1-5, 7-18)
The Unjust Steward


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Characteristic Traits Inherited

C_ Characteristic traits are genetic
H_ He inherited being compassionate
A_ A mouth he had, used language so graphic
R_ Ruff mix vulgarity and passionate
A_ At desperate time in his troubled life
C- Contact with the Savior opened his eyes
T_ Touched by the loving Father eased his strife
E_ Eternally changed became very wise
R_ Raised from the common became angelic
I_ Intellect possessed beyond his learning
S_ Studied God's word to levels to be drastic
T_ Time on earth extended God's rewarding
I_ Inherited characteristic grand
C_ Coupled with Holy Spirit makes man

Contest name:As You Like It
Sponsor: Brian Strand


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Kim Jong-un leader of the starving

I wonder what your thinking, in your country far away
And what on earth possesses you to threaten mine today
You allow your people to starve, munitions they are first
While daily people starve to death and many die of thirst

Your father and grandfather should have taught you how to care
Instead they shared their legacy of treating people unfair
Many live in work camps with three generations or more
Simply because they disagreed, so now all must chore

You live in style above the rest, have people who adore
But deep down, I believe that each person longs for more
You teach hatred and despise my country each and every day
For freedom and free choice would take yours away

Your people follow in fear, like robots in a line
I wonder how long they will conform or will it be your time
More and more try to escape, or die instead of live
In a country such as yours that takes much more than it gives

Each building,statue, memorial you have to tell a tale
Of twisted truths and travesties instead they often fail
For freedom is what's needed in the country you call home
Grow food instead of opium,and leave the people alone

You have the power in your hands to change what was past
Hurry please before it's too late you must do it fast
Do not start a war in which more people will die
Because your father and grandfather started it with a lie. 




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A Garden of Memories

She so lovingly remembers her grandfather here.
Tho many years gone; his memories kept near.
This book he read to her while she sat in his lap.
Taking her on great adventures; imaginations tapped.

Inhaling the aroma of orange blossoms, sweet.
Hungry after each journey, this fruit they would eat.
Filled with such nostalgia it's his scent she misses;
cherry pipe tobacco, also tasted on his kisses.

This has become a tradition for her each year;
happy memories filling her with joy, never tears.
For he is on an adventure in paradise now;
another for her to join him, when she is laid in the ground.

She will read to her grandchildren from this old book one day.
Where precious memories of her in this garden will be made.



July17, 2014
Contest: A poem in Paradise
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst


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Easter

The celebration cometh as Christ
was nailed on the cross of cavalry
carrying our burden of sins.
Everyone was bitter sad and
He spoke out is last storming statement
That was stamped by heaven and
gave up the ghost.

On the third day;
He resurrected and appear to his
people, who is he”JESUS CHRIST”
he is alive, he never dies but slept!!!


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My Poetic Double (Nestorian Sonnet)


He grins like sweet summer sun and dons a musky mojo,  
causing the blooms to titter and roll their sweat onto him;
trancing the sage-less, sarky studmuffins to stare in awe;
and I, the shufflebutt, love to lean my days on his beam.

Like sugar pine he is to me that scares not the swallows,

who are in sound search for the fragrance of elysian life. 
Critters beyond twilight are no better against his sense 
of humor, which oft makes me surely grow in such a rife
for when the banshee wind wails I’ll not be in a pretense.

But when all around him, not calm, or earth is in hollows,

there is this wrath in him that he can wake in a fine line
and prick you without knowing, as if you touch the roses
and sense their thorns. Also, in his choler there is his kind
of love; feel it, be the perfect cone of my heart’s verses.


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You Never Learn-Scars Left Behind

Dad is pushing up daisies today. He did away with himself on New Year’s Day. He lodged a bullet into his own chest. Less than a week later, he was laid to rest. Down to Atlantic City, you and Mom would roam. All our depressed father could do was stay home. You desired to dump more money in a casino. Dad pleaded with you not to go. What a horrible scene you witnessed with your eyes. Our father fashioned his very own demise. Of course, you were filled with regret. However, you too easily disregard and forget. Even that didn’t stop you from losing your money. Do you think destroying yourself is funny? Robert Pettit


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FATHER

     FATHER
Which love is not a struggle to the mind?
Tis easier to think love glides along,
regardless of a road not there to find,
or never caring what is right or wrong.

One love, of child, a father's steady hand,
protecting innocence, through many years
as if he knew the way, and had it planned,
to heal each mortal wound as it appears,

as if all things begin with his okay,
the good, the joy of life to build upon;
demanding right, and hoping in some way
he's always with you, even when he's gone.

The banged up knee, your losing of a friend,
are yours to feel, but his to comprehend.
© ron wilson aka veebdosa the doylestown poet


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O' how my spirit longs for thee

  

These subtle days in solitude pass
as each season greets a new dream
with wind bending through meandering grass
an impulse charge of life redeem 

With arms raised upward to healing light
in each breath I feel as one
a gift of completion sings eternal flight
with scattered stones, rich soil and pulsing sun

I once again return to the spirit within
made of fragmented pieces of endless breath 
where flesh is left behind and spirit love mend
a flight soaring freedom without pain nor death

In awe I rest beneath the weeping willow tree
O' how my spirit longs for thee...


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Letters

Letters

You left me a baby barely out of my crib;
Weakened without you, now stronger at last;
Black hole in mum’s chest, Adam took his rib;
It’s too late now, the iron has rust;
And to you Mother, my greatest woman on Earth;
In youth and all ambition you put your plans to yield;
I am a man now, still and always your son from birth;
I will always remember my promise to build;
To my love, my lily, my beauty, I see you;
Couple with me, let the cycle start again;
Through our youth and middle age I will love you;
So in death we shall feel no pain;
My whole life in a note but more;
With the three souls that made my core.

 




 


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Remembering a Father

A pair of shoes that walked many tests
Skipping and hurdling the hardest
Shock proof to the condition around
Halt to prepare for what tomorrows abound

A distinctive scent of sweat for a living
Upbringing of children is not failing
Many sails and flights brought them away
A love message to sustain each longing day

Hiding tears to withstand the test of time
Strong grip of every chance is sublime
Man of few words but a cherished action
Unload your worries, now at peace with God without distraction

In my most solitary moments
I will live to the image you represent


15 June 2013


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Mother Wisdom

“If a child's mother be wisdom, his Father is  pleased!”

The word of wisdom is mother as love,

If child’s mother is found in wisdom’s  words,

Mother speaks wisdom from Father above,

Lively mother exalts in life’s word surge.

As child partakes in milk of it’s mother,

His exhale wisdom of her, shall promote,

He bonds with her, she shan’t ever smother,

She shall correct  errors of foolish quotes.

`O hear the words of precept, "Agape",

“Enter into pathway of narrow strait,

Manifest wisdom, concept Love’s copy.”

Concept the precept, the Immaculate, 

Ponder a pathway for beautiful feet,

Deny strives of boils in festers of seethe!”  

For contest: Mother
In Honor of: Constance La France 
By john moses freeman


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Sonnet For My Father

He was my father, he brought me home.
I was his second son, not so alone.
Something was taken, not far, but long,
today I remember, this lifeline is gone.

Broken foundations, bridges and stones,
teetering traces of my tears on his bones.
Emptied my pockets, nothing but loans,
never again will I reap what he sows.

Hold up the truth to the light as he fades,
I am the bridge that collapsed from the waves.
excuse to apology, attempts to explain,
love for my father is all that remains.

Look up to the sun, crown for his last day,
watching it set as his soul fades away.


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Jesus Christ' Parable -The Prodigal Son


Forgiveness of Sins / God's Love & Mercy
LK 15:11-32

Then he said, "A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of your estate that should come to me.' 

So the father divided the property between them. After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation. 

When he had freely spent everything, a severe famine struck that country, and he found himself in dire need. 

Coming to his senses he thought, 'How many of my father's hired workers have more than enough food to eat, but here am I, dying from hunger. 

I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 

I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers."' 

So he got up and went back to his father. 

While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. 

He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him; His son said to him, 
'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son. 

But his father ordered his servants, 'Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet...

Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.' Then the celebration began. 

Now the older son had been out in the field and, on his way back, as he neared the house, he heard the sound of music and dancing. He became angry, and when he refused to enter the house, his father came out and pleaded with him. 

He said to him, 'My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours; but now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.'" (Taken from LK 15:11-14, 17-25, 28, 31-32)


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Beacon in My Mind

Thy every deed heralds thy open love
I see God in flesh helping me
Mother dear, modest and gentle as dove
I picture myself tender like thee

Thy leap years cuddle chased my fear
Goodbye. Your answering call as close as my
Hair, your inner peace, teach me life to bear
Father told me your virtue I should buy

But to be my mama is not to be a woman
A pure heart she had said was the key
That's why the boy and the man
In father loves her still. Ingibo, father put her in me

When I become a mother and wife
My Mother, I shall live in my life


Note: Ingibo means mother
Created: 06/25/2011


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A Homecoming


I have spent many hours reflecting on my dad's last earthly days. How he stared silently at the room's far corner, in another place. At times, many visitors filled his crowded hospital room. But my father's eyes were transfixed, his face peacefully consumed. Though he could not speak, I questioned his mesmerizing vision. As I held his hand I knew the answer, God had made His decision. Angels had come for my dad as he quietly faded in that bed. His time of peace had come, but it was the moment I had dread. I wanted Dad to stay with me just one more minute, hour, day. But summer, his favorite season, had come, the time for me to find a way to let him go, Jesus was calling; so I kissed him goodbye through tears. As he took his final breath, a peaceful calm washed over my fears. I stared off into the distance, imagining beautiful angel wings of love, embracing my dad, then flying him to the eternal summer of Heaven above. * This is all true. I held my dad's hand and sang to him as he took his last breath. It may have been angels or my dear grandma coming to take him home. I only know that I felt comforted by my dad's peace. By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, March 19, 2012 First place in Touched by an Angel contest (Gail Doyle) Eighth place in Emotional Poem Contest (PD)


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THANK YOU DAD AND MOM

A sonnet to a faded little rose,
Could never hope to tell you how I feel.
The things you gave up just for me do show,
That parental love is your only seal.
Since birth you've been near just to protect me,
And help me up each time that I would fall,
And guide me with a hand on which I'd lean,
Depending as I start down lifes vast hall.
When I have gone from your home to my own,
To rear my family as you did rear me. 
I only hope that God will help me know,
The joy and sorrows, that I once caused thee.

My love for you is as endless as time itself,
And deeper than the oceans deepest cove.

                           Cile Beer

written l955






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3 States 3 Schools

for first grade alone 3 states and 3 schools
as my mother was leaving my father
mom never gave me and Bonnie hard rules
we didn’t find the move any bother

Tampa Florida is where it all started
and the last place was Pennsylvania
Dad came to Baltimore we departed
I was glad it’s not Transylvania


it was Pennsylvania that was final
it was there their marriage came to an end
I know running away looks criminal
maybe mom gave this family a trend

both my sister and I have a divorce
neither of us are on a solo course


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A Father's Failure

The great wish is that we shall never feel,
Dark as the shady thorns over the yonder;
Beating hearts of gloom just atop the hill
Men with rage they neglect the ponder.

Oh, it were I was happy fool as any
Content to play the game of dull pretense,
Specious are these moments for so many;
Truth tales of lies to their own bitter ends.

Some would weasel that amends could be made
Bed is done lied in, for shame has come in;
Son against father with sharp verbal blade
Killed a command,  instead honored sin.

Yet in the dark, light still filtered good through,
Heaven and hell, God above only who knew.



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Sweet William (for Brian's "Bloom" contest)

When I pick up Sweet Williams
And inhale their spiced perfume,
I see them on the windowsill
Of our tiny old back room.

Their sweet indented petals,
Coloured every shade of pink,
Glowed so bright in that urban gloom
They almost made me blink.

They’d grown on Dad’s allotment – 
An expanse of air and sun – 
Along with fruits and vegetables 
He brought home for my Mum.

Sweet Williams bring it home to me
I’m still the child I used to be.


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Original is Best

Tabasco is the sauce I’d rather use
have a Tabasco burger with mayo
or with Buffalo wings with any booze
that’s a big plus when you’re at a disco

it adds a zest to any food all day
Tabasco to me much more than hot sauce
it gives real flavor eating isn’t play
those other hot sauces give them a toss

I loved it ever since I was a boy
my dad called it hot sauce it’s Tabasco
those other sauces are just a decoy
for there will always be one Tabasco

Tabasco now has many new flavors
originals always my life savers




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Eucharist


Fr. Christ said “I am the living bread that came down from heaven...

If anyone eats this bread

He will live forever

Who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, abides in Me and I in him"

Essential signs of Eucharistic Sacrament are wheat bread and grape wine

Communion with the Body and Blood of Fr. Christ increases the communicant’s union 
with the Lord God.

Receiving this sacrament strengthens the bonds of charity between the communicant and Fr. Christ

It also reinforces the unity of the Church as the mystical Body of Fr. Christ

The Church recommends the faithful to receive the Holy Communion at least once a year.

Fr. Christ Himself is present in the sacrament of the altar

He is to be honored with the worship adoration

To visit the Blessed Sacrament is a proof of gratitude

Expression of love

Duty of adoration toward Fr. Christ, Jesus our Lord


Written 09182012


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Staff of Life

                                                                
How strangely life can turn around, reverse itself, and then come back again I remember how he would tiptoe in, from a warm and downy bed He would wink at me, and beckon me, while the moon and stars peeked in By kitchen light, we would eat a bite..., a “midnight snack”, he said He would lift me up, and from the counter top, I'd watch him tear the bread The staff of life, a simple thing, these two small bowls of wheat My Dad and I, the broken bread, with milk on top, or cream instead A bit of sugar or honey dripped, to make it slightly sweet * * * * Such a little thing, so comforting, and it helped us both to sleep…. While… in my care, his final years…especially at the end He was fading then, no appetite, few foods that he could eat Soft bread I’d make, with milk poured in, …….and we would talk of then I’d sit upon his bed and talk, and help him spoon some in The things in life turn inside out, somehow come back again
_________________________ For the Contest sponsored by Regina Riddle "Intimate Relationship"


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The Call of Father Time & Forever is a Concept

Part 1: The Call of Father Time 

Will no one hear the call of Father Time?
That cruel, sadistic giver and taker away
For matter flows from place to place in time
Then forms in you to give your life away
Now Father Time is calling out in haste
says: "Children of the cosmos, waste me not!"
Yet still we cry: "My life has gone to waste!"
Reminiscing on the times that Time forgot
Though time is standing still for all the lovers
It's moving like an acid trip for most
And approaching like a gallows for the others
While the lovers watching on propose a toast
So Father Time is hanging like a noose
But no one fears the rope when hanging loose

Part 2: Forever is a Concept

Forever is a concept that we lust for
But all that exists in time is here and now
So ask yourself, which one of these you trust more
Then stare at Time's cold eyes and take a bow
For the moment, matter binds together in us
In a moment, it will bind in something new
For Time, it's atoms to atoms and dust to dust
Yet here I sit awaiting something new
"Hurry up Time, I'm waiting" we all say
And Father Time grants every single wish
"Be careful, children of the cosmic fray"
"In the future you will wish you never wished"
Let the clock that's ticking loudly be a sign
To hear the pleading call of Father Time


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Father's Blood and Mother's Love

Father's Blood
and
Mother's Love
Written By: D. Collins 10/24/13
My father's blood gave me my darkened skin.
But, mother's love was that which made me who I am.
Whatever I strive to achieve can actually be mine.
I'll have to work at it harder because of father's bloodline.
But, that ain't about nothing! My mother's love is in me.
Combined with father's blood created the man you see.
I will not be hindered. See the look on my face.
And, nothing is allowed to knock me off my pace.
I have ambitions and the grit to boot.
A mix of mom and dad and fortitude.
The way I see it,they go hand-in-hand.
Blood and love creates distinguished black men.


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The Heron


for  my Father


My father is as noiseless as the bird,
Transfixed upon his pirouetting bob,
To angle fish his self-appointed job,
He speaks with silence. It is his every word.

Mirror to him, voiceless and unstirred,
The heron stiffens, ready to make hob
Among the flitting silver swimming mob.
Beaking his prey, he leaves the water blurred.

He rises like a spirit from the lake
to seek his nest, crowning a cypress tree,
At the utmost reach of my pursuing eyes.
Dad passed today. Contented with his take,
his creel pegged out, my father sought his quay
Eternal, at a height I can't surmise.


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The Next Big Thing

He read the newspaper every day, 
turning the pages, two at a time.
My father’s addictions were deeper than mine,
he gazed at those pages and drifted away.

Once in a while he’d share a good find
sipping his coffee in that old, easy chair.
My father’s obsession was current affairs, 
and watching for signs of market decline.

One day, he stood up and gave me a stare
read all about it, it’s all written there.
It’s coming real soon and it’s just so amazing,
I asked him to show me but I didn’t care.

The words that then staggered out of his mouth:
“digital newspapers, the next big thing”.


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My Friend The Piano

You carried my emotions from the start
Each emotion bound in the small black note
Each one coming straight from my chilly heart
The music you make is my antidote
Through the preludes my comfort softly lay
By way of mazurkas my soul does fly
But to divulge you must learn how to play
Although learning is not a piece of pie
Piano brings emotions around town
You have the power to bring my heart up
Or throw me on the floor and beat me down
There are hard times when I just want to cup
My hands in my face and rock back and forth
And think Piano is a friend of worth	


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Study Sonnet: Aseptic and August Become Family

Auspicious August was a king of old,
who used aspersion as if it were gold.
Baron Aseptic, he declared: filthy,
and his best virtue, his asperity.

The Baroness called the king audacious,
her husband was very assiduous.
“He austerely cleansed all crime from his land,
King August could not claim something so grand.”

Though true, most ascribe her words to her end.
August assailed the Baron to defend
Pride and Respect. The Baron was astute,
killed his wife to appease the royal brute.

His atonement acceptable, the king
made him Groom in the princess’s wedding.


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The Foil

A weakness wound its wicked way inside
where thoughts of “us”, not love, do dwell and swell,
and formed a nest of twigs to stay the tide
yet cresting waves of righteousness rebelled.

“Stray not,” he said " for look on how I writhe."
Of fire formed made thane to only He.
Yet, man, of mud and clay did breach my pride
for Love of Thee, caste out the likes of me.

Now, Lucifer’s red flame so bright, burns night,
a warning scent to frailer souls, “Don’t fall.”
For even stars misstep, disgrace, pride’s plight,                                           
let his torment be your clarion call.

In light, act right, rise high in good spirit
and say “God, the devil made me do it.”



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Youth

There, waiting in secret for thy angelic cue,
Thy age hath come and that day hath gone
Letting dusk paint the world in a different view
Beautiful tones, envied by all but one.
For that one is held close to thy core
As the earth clutches the velvet sky which intern hugs the moon
Leaving no hate, nor lust nor any form of metallic door
To faulter those whom over you shall swoon.
And yet, even at this adoring age
Thy sparkling aura art so pronounced and so glamorous
Making frontline guardians forget their deceitful rage
Replacing vengeful thoughts with ones more amorous
Creating playground stories of kiss and tell
Stealing subtle glances and honest hearts as well. 


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Father and Son

In that similitude of man and gaze
  I am akin you and you akin me:
Not Dickensian, yet not of these days -
  Old man, I am your son and proud to be!
In the dark days and darker nights of us
  When over our home hung a deadly ken,
I saw myself in all that you compass
  And repute you among the best of men!
I love you - yet have no time uttered so,
  And rue the years of passive resistance!
For I know I will miss you when you go -
  Akin in my Arthurian silence.
I have a son, and love him more I can't:
He in time might forget you but I shan't.


                 -------------

For Arturo.


October 2004


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In This Moment

Between the hidden and the knowing
dost not the heart lead
upon heights of silent stowing
to once again reveal his creed 

As streaming clouds run westward 
and fain, I bequest of solemn glory
why must sin lay incurred
for truth be my story

If only to find our Sovereign Lord
calling out amid my guilt
then surely love shall be adorned
woven placidly in heavens quilt

In hymns and color I shout to thee
that wounded eyes might come to see

_______________________________________

Contest-Debbie And Cyndi's Sonneteers
Form- English Sonnet


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Echoing abuse

His words concealed a life so full of lies
His hand was soft which held her gentle palm
She raised her head and looked into his eyes
Without a twitch he played her heart with calm

He knew the signs the ways to find his prey
He’d showed his smile and hid his means to harm
It was for him a laugh a game to play
Where he portrayed a mask with grace and charm 

From young till now with ease she chose wrong men 
And then she’d fight to keep her man in vain 
She craved their rage became the nagging hen
It seemed as if she aimed to live with pain

Dad hid mum and he found a mum to hit
Mum loved dad and she was treated like sh*t


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Comes a Time

 Comes a time when the strength is not to fight,
   And forgiveness not for saints and martyrs:
 When the soil grown sour and the vine in blight
   Reap the fruit of the Sins of the Fathers!
 Comes a breath that enters but does not leave
   When all that remains is a beggar's pride:
 'Tis then he that gives will richly receive,
   And he that stumbles will suffer his chide.
 Comes a reckoning the bells do carry -
   A great heralding too loud to ignore,
 For in its virtue not wont to tarry
   It tolls for the man of steel - not of straw!
 Comes a peace when all steadfastness is done
 And all is right between Father and Son.



October 2007


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MEN OF THE DEEPS

Men are not moles and are not meant to be, Yet coal was needed, so below we went, A thin light on helmets just let us see small tunnels that weak fans barely could vent. Dust can stain the skin, sweat can drain a soul, And each miner knows death patiently waits, The company profits as workers toil while cave-ins or black lungs just obey fate. Aye, we’d mouths to feed, families we love, But we dreamt of sun, clean air to breath, For hope came along, wouldn't stay above, Yesterday is gone, tomorrow we’ll grieve. Deep down, decades under the ocean floor, Dead miners refuse to dig any more.
*Dedicated to my father in law, a former Cape Breton miner who became a miner though HIS father died in a mining accident when he was just a boy and to the Men of the Deeps, the only north American singing group of former miners. . For their song Working Man (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCh-iMcSgdI&feature=related


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Goneril & Regan (King Lear)

Ladies of untrue filial ingratitude
I doubt if you are genuine to the crown
Your love thrown to a villain's attitude
The old king sees now that love speaks than clown
Words. For ladies who plucks respected beard
And poison for love is what thou see'st
A daughter who calls love silent is heard
But who dare throws own self to the tempest?
The tool that united you against your blood
Stained and split you against your selves
You shall never be reborn in this world
If you were, you should not be your selves
Women of ruthless heartlessness who turn
Milk of humanity to demonic buns


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Resolution

Pray they fear not for the child who still cries
He weeps tears that heal, that run free and drain
And flow from a fountain once full of pain
Cleansing his soul as the salt purifies
Pray they now rest and know he relies
On lessons they taught that will always remain
And see that their labors have not been in vain
Affirmed by new wisdom shown in his eyes

Pray they rejoice that a prodigal son
Who stumbled back home to sister and brother
Keeps one Commandment now humble and glad
Pray this New Year there is surely someone
Who's proud to honor his father and mother
And honored to love his dear mom and dad


*Written at the request of my mother who asked me to write her a poem for New Year's






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Heavenly dream made a reality

Upon the spoken word, upon silver wings,
There was a message written to me, sent by my king.
A love song so sweet, my heart could not resist,
I fell for the one; I was made for but missed.
He sang of great redemption, of mercy, of grace,
A foreign language it was to me, I felt uneasy, out of place.
The wrongs I held on to, the sadness the pain,
Simple things really, trying to keep me from my way.
The emotions overwhelming, I collapsed to my knees,
The only feeling I could muster, was the one to appease.
For knowing I was better than the life I was leading,
I had to exceed every expectation, I knew I was fleeing.
He always held me close, through the disappointment and extreme,
Knowing that one day, I’d look back and it’d seem such a dream.
For he always held a plan for me, that I had failed to recognize,
My Lord showed me my world, as it seems through unseen eyes.
Forever I’ll feel in debt to him, although he’ll never hold me to it,
Because he always loved me for who I was, he always held me through it.
-micaiah Price


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I am Man


When those words are spoken, written, to be a man or not,
Buzz says the bee, to discover what is he?
When the vortex of brains come calling all to reveal plots,
On dripping lips with open mouths that are caves of echoes, opened with skeleton 
keys,
The makeup of a man with gray and white matter speaking to him,
Seats of consciousness much more grandeur than the largest auditorium,
Fleshy pods of minds, bodies, and souls, that are glass snakes with broken penis 
limbs,
Regeneration of anger, hate, sorrow, despair, and love trapped in the hearts 
sunless atrium,
Driving on streets with war bonnets making exchanges with Julius Cesear in the 
passenger seat,
Boxing wrongs reminding us that we are men, and men we are,
Love letters from Sappho, slapping vulnerability, and veneered with eroticized heat,
Ermine men with life lessons spitting out the memories of nightmares,
Graveyards of bones with worm infested skulls, and dreams at rest,
 To be a man in life, to be a man in death, here, and there, he must live or die the 
noblest. 


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ACOA

the Adult Children of Alcoholics 
educated me a lot on my life
I have seen plenty of alcoholics
growing up with it stabs you like a knife

I once read in a book what certain traits
children of alcoholics developed
being an adjuster in life relates
seems like my life was underdeveloped

I would just go with the flow with no word
looking back on my life I know it’s true
I was never the one to wear a sword
all this because dad drank way too much brew

Dad is dead family is still coping
we have all done our own way of doping


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Through It All

It’s never been an easy thing,
To keep your head above the surface.
When hurts all you’re receiving,
And you couldn’t find a safe place.

But I know you never gave in,
Even through the roughest of it all.
And I don’t know if you expected to be forgiven,
For making us stand so tall.

But I hope you’re sure,
With no shadow of a doubt.
I’ve loved you all the further,
For everything we went without.

And all I know to say, is let it be the way it wants to be.
And dad, I hope you know, you mean everything to me.


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Heredity

When I was a child, all the neighbors said, 
   “He looks exactly like his father! ”
While back at home, said all my kin
   “He looks exactly like his mother! ”
Then came the age I went to school
   Teachers commented in perfect scroll
And wrote back then, “All things considered, 
   He is, in many ways, his sister! ”
So to home I scurried and found a mirror
   To know which one was true, and what a wonder
And curious! Yet surprised I should not be
   To find my father, mother, sister, all three—

      —staring back at me.


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Death, His Friend He Must Embrace

Back bent,
Spine protruding from withered figure,
His face a creeping shadow,
Scattering, revealing pale ghost beneath,
Breathing eerier croaks from dark fathoms within,
Lips parched,
A bumpy mess of scales,
His eyes dug deep within the shrivels of his face,
Reflecting with joy his distant youth,
Quivering lost paper in wind,
As those lips part one final time,
No one listens to his great last words,
Expecting him to quietly slip away with grace,
Death his friend he must embrace. 


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Westward HO

(Blank Verse Sonnet)

The wagons slice a trail across the plains
in search for gold or land to claim and build
abodes where independence rules supreme;
my great-grandfather leads them west for gain
all while his wife and sons work on the farm.
The trails he carves become long rails of iron
throughout a nation sworn by force of law –
that each man’s peace now lies within his hands.

Yet greed breeds theft, and swag digs ugly wounds
across the land where freedom banners wave;
while bondage of the poor and frail prevails
and brother murders brother, flushed with rage.

          A government now sets the bar too high,
          as mothers, east to west, spill bitter tears.

.


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What Wondoous Love

When we are born in sin we shun the face of God

Like a useless tool we brought Him much shame

He chose to show us all his love and grace

Then sent His son to come and take the blame

 

He bore all of my sins upon a cross

Then died to save an awful man like me

All my sins are gone I’m no longer lost

What wondrous love what fathomless mercy?

 

And now I’m free no longer a slave to sin

Saved by grace through faith alone

Forever in heaven I will worship Him

Giving praise to the father up on His throne

 

Our merciful father sent from up above

His great gift of mercy his wondrous love


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THE DOLT



My father, the handyman, was able

to fix most things with his heavy hammer.

Using screws and nails, a long work table,

He repaired his daughter’s sudden stammer

at the tender age of four. I was told

that every word replayed, a thing rutted

by insecurity. Mother’s quick scold

and each relative who’d frown and tut-tut

silenced me, but there was one special place 

that always unhinged my tongue- the wood shop.

Standing in sawdust with his old tool case,

Confidence would build, the stutter stopped

as though all those jars of small nuts and bolts

had opened themselves just for me, the dolt.




* Theme: Nailed
**This is a modern sonnet


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DO THIS SON

My son 
As thou climbs the mountain
Cut not the trees
Rather fertilize them

For maybe, just maybe
When you fall
They might wedge you
It is called nemesis

Remember also, the dogs
They never forget thy master
Even in times of famine
Don’t think you waste your food

Because when you’re chased
They will reverse the chase  


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EMEABA

That small but a mighty house. Wh're you once lived & gone, Built upon the mountains high. Left for a generations yet unborn. How long would it lingers us far too off.  To know the labour of our heroes past. shall not be in vain or aloof. If it were not for your lased eyes. Piercing the psychic of the coming years like an eagles descryings. Would your name brought about this future.That everyone who had come in the lemmings. Would rather die with emeaba on their lipsture. That  teeming & bustling house. No one seemed  to care but carried off by gloats.


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My Heart, 'tis a Caged Bird

Love, what shalt I speak for what thou dost see

Through most offensive blackened iron bars

Where sky is sick and hides away the stars

Because my heart pounds ardently for thee.

My Lord's old mind was poisoned with debris

By vile council to banish thee afar

For if we came and called an infant ours

Their worth would thus be scorned, ruled by part flea.


Thou mustn’t think mine soul belongs to gold

Lest be that gold which flows from out thy head,

Then ye'd be right, and know I could not bear

A breath away from ev'ry rounded fold.

As thou dost read, I draw nigh to thy bed

To set thee free and stir the midnight air.


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The Separation

Quite far away under a plot of ground
Some old, decaying bones can there be found--
That’s all that’s left except the memories.
The days are lonely now since I don’t hear
From this departed one so close and dear,
And yet somehow I know that now he sees
His son, now trying very hard to say
Some words about his dad who’s passed away
By using now this way of eulogies:
The poems of him and his life that I write.
If I could have it closer, then I might
Go to the plot where now his body lies
And think about the day when soon we’ll be
United once again eternally
When we meet face to face up in the skies.
Yet herein lies the hope and truth I’ve found:
He really does not lie there in the ground,
And when I think of that I realize
That Dad now waits for me at heaven’s gate,
And miles of ground and earth don’t separate.


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Dad

This letter, with the writing on the page

Fill me with emotions that run so deep

Yet it releases your emotions from an iron cage

While mine continue to seep and seep

What shall I do with his new thought?

Do you really care for me as I care for you?

This letter just makes me feel so caught

Could this all really be true?

Dad, I love you. We both know this

This letter proves you love me too

Dad we both know it is you I miss

You miss me; this letter is the final clue.

Together we've been on an up and down ride

Yet we shall always stay together, side by side.


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Who Bears Your Infancy?

What silk conducts the frail nocturnal moth?
What hand commands its drunken fabric flight?
Whose guiding threads are weaved within its cloth?
--the same maternal moon that knits the night?

Can such a lantern lead it to neglect
the sov'reignty endowed within its wings?
Can such resplendent light induce defect?
Does radiance incite its ragged rings?

If so, what poor parental sense does she,
the nightly wife of dawning's eye, display.
What mother lets her children toddle free
when faulty fathers seek to singe their way?

Why must the moth revere the mother's name,
yet turn to ash before a father's flame?


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the quest

The Quest 
When a child my father was absent from my life
I dreamt about him and gave him heroic status.
He was an explorer, submariner, western hero
and a general in the foreign legion; I never saw
him as a fireman though, children tend to see 
them as heroes. Needless to say the sloth moving
town constable was a figure of fear and contempt
representing authority, vengeful and unjust. 

When I finally met my father he had bad breath 
and nicotine stained fingers.  I rejected reality
and went on looking for the real on, till I was old
and I had to admit he must be dead by now.
I look into the mirror and sigh, no doubt he must
have looked like me, melancholy is my name. 


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Abba

Abba the father my heart cries out to you.
I am corner stoned with all I will ever be.
I reach high and climb the skies just to see.
I am in a world so confused it is hard to do.
 
Abba the father my soul just passes through.
I come to you and I am down on bended knee.
I have a soul begging for justice to be set free.
I am in a world where corruptions make new.
 
I am searching the distance,
Documenting my presence,
Absorbing life’s existence,
Developing omnipresence!
 
 
As this world shatters and shakes,
The Earth begins to violently quake.
 
 


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Leave My Life

You Could never understand me even if you tried Over 10,000 times you've showed me that you never even looked beyond the glass I maybe a disgrace who wish to erase But the pain is so elaborate, all caused by you, how isn't it embraced for you? so many tears you let slip, left to die condoned I am, but only with your voice alone If you don't care to know me, leave my life If you think the dark is scary as it shows, leave my life If you've failed to keep your mind open, leave my life If you ever thought I was lesser, Leave my Life


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Master Blasters

Incredible as all of this may be,
And just as brilliant as our fate is,
You are my unique lift to my wiz!
So it looks like it is you or it’s me.
 
We’re in the winds and we both run free.
All of this is hers and it’s every bit of his.
Those two are master blasters put to quiz.
Together they locked eyes eternally to see.
 
They are dancing on the Moon,
Or they are singing to the Sun.
Their love has come too soon.
Now familiar renewal has begun.
 
They are in full bloom with a force that is most incredible to blossom,
What a glimmer in their glare they sand blasted out of awe to awesome!


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The summer of My Life

My son, my son! He will one day put up his arms And shout out, “Play!”
He’ll scribble walls, my young aesthete, bang pots and pans to his own beat.
We’ll hide and seek in show’rs of May, and learn what clouds and stars might say.
He’ll run while stumbling with his feet and singing out his laughter sweet.

I know he’ll grow with every turn. My teachings round his mind he’ll churn.
I pray the good that I’ll instill enhance his power of free will,
And when he leaves he might secern what saves his world or makes it burn.
I hope his life shall then distill some greatness, making life a thrill.

I hope my days will still allow to reach these dreams I hold somehow,
‘Cause now’s the summer of my life and I’ve no child, and lost my wife.
If Fate my dreams does disavow, my art I heighten starting now.
I’ll also try by virtue rife to win my place in afterlife.

Remembered I might never be, most humans try this commonly.
Astounding this we try, agree? To endure like minor deity.


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Defend Me Father

How could you not defend my grace?
You my brother and father in haste
Protection you should have given to me
Instead of a false pretension of the incapability to see

Loyalty you possess amidst your modest private group
How much pain do I endure, how low must I stoop?
Allowing your only daughter and sister to be mauled 
Your loyalty is selective; why am I so stupidly appalled? 

It’s never been a surprise to me that I’m the lesser one
Even all my achievements; I’m still the one who’s shunned
Where’s the unconditional love all of you have preached about?
Were they just pacifying remarks; pretending not to shut me out?

I’m ashamed and infuriated that neither one of you
Would defend my honor and sensibility; simply you withdrew
Family is supposed to protect each other until the bitter end
Had I been wearing the shoe that fit, your reputation I would defend

But I wasn’t shown that privilege, was I my faithful kin?
I was shown a simple remiss of another troubled sin
Well time has come to show me that were clearly drifting apart
A father who refused to shield his daughter; a person simply forgot

I’ve made my peace and understand that I’m no longer your little girl
But in my heart you’re still my daddy and my emotions are in a whirl
My aching heart is in disarray for I know what the future brings
The disappointed invisible one, no longer feeling your shameless stings

© Stacy Lynn Stiles