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.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
