Was it you I cried for,
Or was it you who made me cry?
The fragile man who held me in his hand
The hand I held when last we said goodbye
I ran for you, I drew for you,
I wrote my heart out in front of you
You looked but could not see me,
You heard me but could not listen
I rode my bicycle all day to get away from you
And back to the house I grew up in
I grew up that day,The day you were missing
Where was the time we went fishing for carp?
The talk about the birds and the bees?
When were you proud of your little boy?
When could I put my arm on your shoulder?
Just be friends, pals, buddies?
And why does ice that smothers my heart
Drip tears that long to feel a father’s joy?
Whitewashed windows and sterile rooms
And mirrors on every wall
I see myself at every turn
No distractions, no photos,
No one left to call
Like the one who went before me
You held my hand enough
To pull me down the path you walked
Always walking ahead,
Afraid if I looked in your eyes, I’d see…
You weren’t so tough
As your spirit filled the room
As my hand slipped from your hand
At that point in time and from then on
I knew I had to be a man
When I laid you in the ground
At last able to touch you and not fear it
I buried the boy who wanted so much to be loved
But was so afraid to ever hear it
Reach up with your black, crusty hands
I woke in the night gasping for air
Was it your voice I heard?
Terrible icy stares
I need to cry out to God Almighty
But mumbled a word
February 10, 2001
Copyright ©2001 Michael Paul