There is a void in my life
that my father used to fill.
A love like no other
taken against his will.
It was a nine month battle,
with the prize to be his life.
He was alone in his struggle
with desired help from his wife.
Blinded by anxiety and
unable to tell the future,
the wounds he gained in battle
were those unable to suture.
The doctors did they best they could
but the opposing stood its ground.
My father was thin, and far too weak
to stay for another round.
So in preparation for his final days,
the couch bed was made out.
Tears streamed down inside of me
like water from a spout.
Three hours before the pass of his soul
my father sat up and stared.
His eyes met mine, and the tears I
withheld could almost not be bared.
I quickly turned and ran to my room
and quietly shut the door.
The pass of his soul came and went,
and now I can see him no more.
My father is gone, my only friend.
I wish I could have said
I love you, just one time before...
but now my father is dead.
To hug him, just once, I'd give anything.
If even in a dream.
But all my wishes have been ignored.
At least that's how it seems.
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