Written by Blake Kay
Embattled division,
in absence
and of emergence;
clings to self
by memory of child
lost to sadness,
so it swells…
swells to the grief
of the father,
becomes him,
a gaunt apparition
digging with broken claw
through the dirt
of antiquity and
guilt;
Peace will never come,
not truly…
moments of moments
caked in feigned acceptance,
mired in false joy,
the son
gone;
the father
simply
tries
to
Live
Text © Blake Kay
*
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