Theatre’s dark with the absence of fathers
save me, gripped by a small hand, anxious.
These are moments, variously overlooked,
when boys learn to become men or learn fear
for Dad’s stubbornly fulfilling some cursed prophecy
never written, nor truly spoken

On ashes he weeps oer the eerie void
he was left by his father and his father and-
they all seem the same, much they are,
weighted by loneliness, guilt,and regret
The dark one’s trickery, insidiously obvious
difficult to shake as it’s easy to take on
that shame, that horrid, wretched, heart-sucking shame,
keeps him away, keeps him from fighting

The cycle continues

I in my chair, I’ve known it so well
though today of all days I know a cure
Whatever the anger, whatever the rage
whatever the peril, fear, or betrayal,
the boy beside me will ever look over
and see me
free enough to father

I dare not restrain myself from penning these words. To do so would be to deny my lungs oxygen.