Poetry Is It Possible Mandy

Poetry As I sit here, at my table, pen in hand, contemplate – there is nothing I understand about that which flows – I write not knowing how or why ?, the sight before these eyes – one calls poetry. Blinded to technique – what I see, I do not understand – it just comes. Thoughts, feelings, experiences – it runs like blood - flowing from a deep wound that will not stop – will soon be crooned, in melancholy voice – stained pieces of paper that never reach the inner eye of the maker. Be it he or be it she ?, this they will never see !, for they understand – not me !, be apart ?, - never will be. Is it possible ??? In just how many a way ?, is it possible for me to say, Mandy, I love you, I love you. Despise, hate me, you seem to do. What is it ?, I might do, I might be to bring you around, allow you to see, that, – for me – not many a day is left !, to try and change the way our lives, our paths have been headed. Changes to see, before it all has ended. How might we reach a state of peace ? The pain, the heartache, anger to release. Mandy I feel no love, no thought exists, I have no contact. This leaves me wondering ?, why is it ?, you act in the manner you do – I feel indifference, the essence of your thoughts, feelings, it’s the reference for me, as to whom - I think - you seem to be and why you do the things you do, do not reach out to me. Is this why ?, indifference is all I get to see from you, in response to my attempts at contact, to get through to you, to get us back on track. In our little world, getting through to you, I have failed. Every time I try to open the doors a little, you have railed against me, you have made tracks, a runaway train, leaving me behind, in a cloud, me to remain among the shadows, the shallow darkest places of your troubled, young mind, where our faces are lost to ?, where the evaporate into shadows, invisible to the mind’s eyes – those windows through which we look into that troubled, lost soul. This middle Daughter, I seem not to know, with whom, family tie should certainly grow, yet, instead, cuts with a single, swift blow from her dark, harsh, keen sword. Slicing into little pieces – silently - not a word. I wonder ?, just what was it I heard in the battle that ensued - over the phone – that call you’d have me believe, was all about, other than leaving me out. Another opportunity, an occasion – not to be – lost to me and my Grandson – at what cost ??? I am truly troubled Mandy, by just how cruel you can be and what you feel about how it effects you and me. I cannot see Girl, that you really give a **** and realize, into your life, I will never fit as you move on, leave me and everyone behind having no place for them or me in your mind. I truly wish, life in these words did not have to be Mandy, but that life is all you have left for me to see. It is the scenario that represents, the you, with me. Truth be known Mandy, I am no Oak tree. I just wish - whatever it is – you would set it free, open the doors – wide – once again let me touch thee, the Daughter, I miss, the Daughter, I love. May you find a stairway to climb , rise far above. May you fly with that white bird of peace, soar with the Dove. Leaving for below all that inhabits, all that inhibits. Love Dad B. J. “A ” 2 June 9th 2004