Mediocre son (me) crafts letter to his papa

Impossible mission to escape end of life woe

visit courtesy grim reaper

inevitable for every mortal,

whether he/she alive

yesterday, today or tomorrow

quintessentially senescence tabled

upended wrested status quo

belief, dogma, faith...

(i.e. Unitarian Universalism)

albeit atheistic to the core

mine temporal perspective yes and no

affects how I process death,

afterlife mystery only

googly dead souls know,

yet intimation possibly presage consciousness

prior to corporeal being given heave ho

cashing in chips tantamount

to omnipotent deity collecting his/her escrow,

whether thee cremated or buried six feet below.

Our short lived presence upon terrestrial firmae

forces yours truly (me) to reconcile and address

internalized emotions whereby decades elapsed

when sole son (begat between thee and mother)

found irksome offspring regarding shortcomings

triggered hollow ultimatums begetting madness

to flourish toward meek offspring inept at filial

duties, who sought refuge within known solitude

usually finding second born progeny holed up in

his bedroom ofttimes fervently engrossed reading

imaginatively escaping trials and tribulations +

wishing he could magically transform himself

far from irate parents, within their good graces

he fell short short since January 13th MCMLIX.

Methinks ambivalence towards papa

(a nonagenarian widower)

comprising mein kampf

three score plus one year

constituted ineradicable unseen wall,

nevertheless impenetrable as any damn weir

metaphorical barrier laid brick

by figurative brick encompassed unilinear

chronological invisible breastwork did snare

nobody but thyself anomalous to grown man

exhibited effeminate characteristics

as young lad, though not queer,

nor the least bit attuned and/or aware

about sexual orientation,

but simply introverted quite clear

to any casual observer,

a veritable outcast (of Poker Flat), i.e.

cuz I experienced alienation everywhere

at home (then 324 Level Road,

school (Henry Kline Boyer Elementary)

retreated to boyhood bedroom

contrived make believe playmates

courtesy overactive mental cog and gear

named Harny and Dinny never insincere.

Dear papa, your frail physical health disallows

in apropos, callous, and egregious to trot out

vindictive remonstration harkening back days

witnessed by extreme grievances signalling

caustic verbal brickbats lobbed squarely upon

passive progeny unable to attain expectations,

(albeit reasonable), I fell far short (physically

emotionally, and academically) to acquire atta

boy approbation rather constant browbeating

frightened timid lad scared of his own shadow

methinks yours truly shameful embarrassment

whereby failure to accomplish basic income

invariably congenital fait accompli linkedin

with purported schizoid personality disorder.