A long and lonesome wait.
The waiting for the dance of two.
An entwined fate, infinitely distanced.
To stand-up is to desire for dance.

I know who, the daemon, the dancer.
The moving words, a monologue.
Heard songs a reminder of silence.
The rhythm plays out of tune.

The sound, no longer flat.
Yet the ears are presumed deaf.
The pitch transcendental.
My garden over the hill.

A pain let and a cry felt.
The responsibility of insignificance.
Walled green, suffers and broods.
Flowers, just are.

You share your words, I cup my ears.
You shed your shell, I catch your tears.

When life goes awry, wisdom gives bliss.
I hold your face, forehead graced with kiss.

My words are calm, warm, and tranquil.
I'm gentle, understanding; tell me how you feel.

You're unburdened, cumbersome no more.
Uplifted you thank me and say your peace.
I'm alone again, but it's better now. I'm sure.
Wings flap; I close my eyes and feel the breeze.

Their once storms, now but a gust.
Shepard their dragons, I must.

Their dragons are slain, the fire is gone.
I shoulder their pain, my words drawn.

As they sleep, I sit and gaze at the stars.
I'm arrested, their beauty. Oh, how they glisten.
Frankly, I weep as I'm fighting their wars.
As dark as the night may fall, I'll always listen.

To whose ears may I profess?
Am I not too, simply a mess?

No one to be me, for the father.
Everyday, the man seems closer yet farther.

Who is there when it all seems so bad?
I know who I am, the man, my own dad.