An Epistle to my Late Father

Dear Dad, O! the strife you’ve caused:

    

I look for you, though I find nothing.

I call for you, though I receive no answer.

I search for you, though I touch nothing but the air.

 

I cry out, and Mom comes to my rescue,

     Or so I thought:

 

She can provide nothing found in search.

She can provide no answer to my call.

She can provide nothing tangible to grasp,

     No matter how hard she tries.

 

Cry, met with cry.

What is the sense in that?

 

Yet this is the way of the world;

Never alleviating our mourning –

Only providing more to mourn.

 

Yes, this is the way of the twisted world we live in.