Broken heart,
How has this child crushed hope,
Torn relationship apart?
You’re a ghost.
They don’t give a damn these days;
Occasional text at most.
Maybe time
will heal whatever lies here,
Give grace, pass this pantomime.
This is a treochair poem. The triplet stanzas have an ABA rhyme scheme, a 3, 7, 7 syllable count, and alliteration.
I grew up
a pampered princess
a late life arrival, long desired.
I felt my father’s
fondness every day-
a travelling salesman
who never missed a moment
of my active life.
But you
lost your father
along the way, lost sight
of him over the barriers
your mother built between you.
What was it like to find him
as he was dying, knowing
he had never stopped
loving you, though you
were equally lost to him?
Once you found him,
he slipped into eternity.
As I watch you, so
polished at your work,
on this career high,
I wonder,
Are you still a lost boy?
Or did the chance to embrace him
at the end of his life,
to know how proud he was of you,
help ease the sorrow
as you set him free to fly?
I forgive you
for not meeting me for tea
And I wonder,
what kind of father
will you let yourself be?
.
.
(For S&D)
Shawn L. Bird 