Mandy
An expedition back into the dark jungle,
a rain forest shrouded in the haze of history,
brought about by hidden enterprises.
Lost and Found
Mandy
Battle weary am I, war warn.
To shreds has my heart been, torn.
From my middle Daughter, only scorn.
Mouthing hateful words, my soul doth morn.
My heart laden heavy by the icy coldness
from adolescent, peer mimicry, its boldness.
Living with fear of love lost, of lost intimacy.
I feel I have no more, as a father, legitimacy.
My heart, my soul tortured by all the pain.
Echoing off the barren, jagged walls, of my terrain.
Monsoons battering these walls, with heavy rain
saturating every synaptic cleft of my shattered brain
with the death of my tears, as they become lost
in the quagmire of life, what a disastrous cost.
Does it come from her head, I might have a chance.
From her heart, it will destroy this parent’s dance.
All this dread, drenches the trenches in my head.
Does all of this mean, to her, in her mind, I am dead.
It seems, as her parent, her father, I have lost any chance.
The price I have to pay for standing up, taking a stance.
All the lies culminate with the loss of belief.
Deceptions, con games, from them no relief.
Lost faith, loss of trust only offer one, grief.
Respite from all of this heart ache is so brief.
These hateful, mean spirited words resonate
disrespect, rebellion, verbal abuse that state,
this war I wage, with such rage, will go on and on
until a light comes on, on a new day it will dawn.
B. J. “A” 2
May 8th, 1998
Epilog
Twenty three years have slipped by.
The Daughter, once the apple of my eye,
I no longer hear from or get to see.
Phobias, anxieties, that is all she be.
Revisited, Revised
November 1st, 2021
Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield | Year Posted 2021
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