Sitting in abeyance.

My life on perpetual hold;
the cold air forcing me to hunch up for warmth.

Another cigarette...

I ****** the packet lovingly,
opening and closing the lid,
spinning and revolving the box like a precious stone.

I think about my father.

Memories,
scrambling for admission,
into my hall of fame.

The bad ones,
constantly slashing,
constantly stabbing.

The jagged blade of guilt.

He could be difficult,
but my desperation for acceptance,
made me difficult too.

Tears fighting for freedom,
I shield my face by running my fingers through my hair;
cigarette still in hand.

I return to the ward.

I reflect on my father’s now non cognizant state,
and although disturbing,
I also find it calming and absolute,
for he is safe in the labyrinth of his mind,
and nothing can hurt him.

I hold his hand,
and with a final last gasp of inevitability,

he is gone.

Gone.

As I sit back,
in my plastic chair,
my lugubrious acceptance is numbing.

But there is another feeling;

one that is so refreshing;

so alien;

so…

shiny and clean.

it smashes through my self-induced sedation like a sledge hammer:

Liberation.