Hopes

His eyes always wandered so high above

I pushed myself to rise from the rough

In the heavenly hope that he would see me

My father- a man I dearly loved - slipping

Into a shadow cast in the past, I let him be

Shuddering; as I remembered my tears dripping

But then blood is heavy and I reminisce

Call it nostalgia, negative or non-sensical

But it is no wrong to dream of a father who is amiss

So I do it again, despite Momma telling me he is happy

"Happy with his own family" I often write letters so scrappy

In the back of my books - letters I won't ever send

In the hope - a heavy hope that his heart would have some love to spend