Unattainably Sunken

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Unattainably Sunken

I see me through your eyes,

See l do the disdain for your own bloodline,

The burning, l see your despise,

For me, the fires that burn within their shine,

With your left hand, you say this,

And yet with your right,

Continue you do, to take the piss,

With those eyes that fire so bright,

It’s never enough for you,

With expectations perched on pedestals so high,

Unreachable, unattainable, undue taboo,

Success so hard to come by,

We are now on the eves of your last morrows,

Already have l, wept for the days of the yesterday,

Is true, sorry to say, but l have no more sorrow

To award the sunken decay of your ways,

I tire of your silly games,

Your manipulative and greedy needs

It matters not, now … not really,

Irrelevant to how you scatter hatred seeds,

What was once, is now long gone … seriously,

Unable to rise with a new dawn,

I care not, not now, l am so very tired,

Sick and tired of being your pawn,

No longer am l remotely inspired,

I hang back, broken and withdrawn,

It’s unattainably sunken,

Pointless trying to rekindle the ash,

Honestly, it has gone, receded and shrunken,

Back into whence it sprung from, it’s now cached,

I ask myself if l should feel this way,

Is it right to not feel a thing anymore?

That it will not be long before he is away,

Gone, for ever more, and unable to answer for,

The sins he hath created, leaving us with broken pieces,

A giant jigsaw, never to be again whole,

Unattainably sunken, unreachable, incohesive,

Of a life, lives that were taken, stolen,

From the youth of a lost childhood,

When a Father, could not be just simply a Dad,

Knowing not what was expected and pleading he was misunderstood,

When the reality was blunter, the truth just terribly sad,

A man who had no time for family, no time for life,

No time for anything, just there for him, and him alone,

Forget the kids, forget the wife,

Don’t need them, don’t want them, best to disown,

How does one, care for that mentality,

Now that the figure of my youth,

Lies dying, his nearing death an absolute reality,

And yet still he plays the game of the uncouth,

 

How l am supposed to care?

© Rory Matier 2018

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