Lost

He turns his face

indiscernible in the light

his gruff visage haloed -

rusted charcoal hue

He is old. Furrowed

and gruesome - you know

from memory, if not

by sight. Deeply scored

plasticine face - beroughed

with stubble. The dark

around him swallows -

cannot stomach him

but lingers. Waiting.

He is decay. And

dissolution.

Without him, nothing

will smile. Nothing will

feel at ease.

He is your father, your

reality made firm -

Without him you are lost