Where the place? my son,
where are you now? I have
searched the dark nights
of dreams to see you there,
but vaguely you were there
but not just dreams' falsity
in grief's hope.
I searched through day after day
in places we both knew and where
you grew, but you were not there
as once you were, just shadows
of a time no more, room following room, opening and closing door.
I often sense you close to me,
not some place else where
dark days tell, but here and there
where we may wish or want or need
day following day, wishing we could
cope with grief and loss that way.
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 3:20 PM UTC
Where the place? my son,
where are you now? I have
searched the dark nights
of dreams to see you there,
but vaguely you were there
but not just dreams' falsity
in grief's hope.
I searched through day after day
in places we both knew and where
you grew, but you were not there
as once you were, just shadows
of a time no more, room following room, opening and closing door.
I often sense you close to me,
not some place else where
dark days tell, but here and there
where we may wish or want or need
day following day, wishing we could
cope with grief and loss that way.
A father talks to his dead son
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