More and more
my thoughts turn to you
So aware
I’m now the age
that you were
when the pair of you parted
and you got that rented house
on the edge of town
We’d stay at weekends
watching winter’s tide sweep in
stand in the falling snow
garden and fields disappearing
said ‘throw another log on the fire’
said ‘dad, your house is cold’
At fifteen, I was nothing
lost in my own sea of nonsense
I didn’t ask you anything
I didn’t think to say a word
Where was my empathy
you let nothing show
Every other Saturday we’d gather
at your house on the edge of town
it all felt new to me
felt so exciting
a fresh world of fields to explore
of walks to take and fires to light
with or without you
So immature and lost
in my own mythology
I never really realised
you could be hurting
I didn’t stop to think
When maybe your son
could have been there for you
Living raw, living alone
twelve days at a time
the snow piling up around
your house
on the edge of town
While we still have some time
let’s talk openly
let’s talk now…
[2019]
Thanks for reading.
The Lighthouse 
“So immature and lost
in my own mythology”
That right there….. ❤️❤️
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😊 Those two lines sum up the whole poem really. I’m glad you singled those out. 👍👍
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You’re welcome! Well done!
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What beautiful and honest perspective in this poem. “Living raw, living alone/twelve days at a time”…..that left a lump in my throat. Yet another of your poems that has left me pondering. Definite aspirations for my own writing. Thanks.
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😀 Thank you again! I didn’t even know I wanted to write this poem, I just pen to paper one day and it fell out. I had to phone my dad straight after writing it… I have been reflecting on my youth a lot recently as a source of inspiration for poems; looking back at the naivety of youth with the wisdom of age is proving a deep seam to mine. 🙏🏼
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