My Dearest Dad—My World Has Crumbled Around Me
The walls I built now close around me tight,
the foundation you gave me trembles, breaks—
a fortress of dust where stars once shone bright,
and all that remains is the shadow you leave.
You were my anchor in chaos, a steady hand,
a lighthouse when storms swallowed the shore.
Now silence hums where your laughter once ran,
and every breath feels like I’m gasping for you.
The floorboards groan with a sorrow I can’t name,
each creak a reminder of promises unkept.
My hands, once steady, now shake with the weight
of a world unmoored, a heart you’ve left.
Yet in these ruins, I trace your ghostly tread—
a warmth in the cold, a memory’s soft flame.
You taught me to stand when the ground refuses,
so I’ll bend, but not snap, though I bear your name.
Dad, I’ll rebuild from this fractured design,
with love as my blueprint and tears as my glue.
For even in darkness, your light still defines
the path I’ll retrace, step by aching step.
And when the night howls, and the void feels too wide,
I’ll whisper your name like a prayer to the stars—
for crumbled worlds can still find their own pride,
if we gather the courage to rise from the scars.