Posthumously Early
A year in the life
Of the man who (mosted) me
Has passed again
Without his son
And with questions from
My side
In his son's life
(To be fair to uplift him) this year
I failed repeatedly.
Involved with a false love.
Hated by thus love.
Hated by friends.
And caste into some place
Much like him and
Much like what he knows
And where he is.
I hope it does not make him angry
To hear that his son is losing;
To hear that his son has failed him.
But what is failure to the failed?
What is pain to the pained?
I wish he could have seen her.
I wish he could have seen me.
I wish things were much different.
They aren't.
They never will be.
The things I thought mattered didn't.
In both directions;
Before
and after. Neither of the groups mattered.
One would leave me be for any reason.
A limp wolf limps alone.
The other would leave me for the moving on
of the one she loved the most, that was never moved on.
And the balance of the past far exceeded
the efforts of the present.
Happy birthday won't be sung anymore
for either of us. We were never the kind
that wanted it.
We would drive down the road when I was little
Maybe 7.
"L" seats is what they called them.
He would jerk the wheel left and right.
And I would roll and roll with laughter.
I wonder if anyone will care enough to
Save
Either of
Us. Or even try. Because
We aren't one's to be
moved.
So another year Dad. I don't even know
how old you are. I don't know if i'll see you
before you die.
I hope so.
I wish you could have seen her.
I wish you could have seen me.
I wish things were different.
I love you.
