Where can I find a shred of light throughout this desolation? It all ends the same. I don’t know if I can be there to lead the procession home. Not me. Not anyone. Not me. How many years will I miss? Days? Weeks? Nothing you’ve said is forgotten, tainted, rusted away. I’ll carry you with me. I’m not alone any more. I promise. It’s just sometimes I can’t stay happy, though I swear I’m still the same. Am I you to your father now? Do we smother the ash in your hair? It’s just worry, weary and weathered, bent through my heart like a stake. Am I you to your father now? I’m anxious, unraveled. I’ll take your words to heart before I carve them into a stone. And what of my children? How well will they know you? I hope that they can see even half of what I do. Time always proves toxic; we’re resilient in youth, but now I’m left praying that age will wait for you. I don’t want to be the one to brush the dust from your hands, hoping that one day I can be a better man.
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