Father

As clouds descend a leaden sky, and seagulls hide between their wings,

He walks the sands with bare feet, in solitude and darkness.

The gloomy mornings of his dreams are but a haze in laughter.

He dips a hand into the pastel water, and presses sea-shells to his ear –

The sounds of seas far gone and, after, forever lost and – oh, so near.

He walks the sands with bare feet, and I, with screams: “Don’t cry, don’t cry,”

Follow his steps in blue and yellow, in hopes of purple dawns and sun.

If only I could be a-one, with his lone grey and purple after.

I dip a hand into the pastel water, and press a sea-shell to my ear –

All I can hear are the sounds of laughter, forever gone and – oh, so near.

Beware, they say, of love too strong – it hurts and often goes unjust –

But walks with him along the pastel, in steps of silvery and grey,

In filial love that I so trust, in bondage that withstands the past,

It seems that fish in leaden seas, that live forever in the cold of water,

Will live unlike the silly gulls, that hide from moons and always totter.

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