The Working Father

I came home to his empty room. You would think I were to have seen it coming, though I didn’t know about the storm that was looming and I wonder if he is still roaming, or is he as silent as the house now still. All that remains is his will for I lost my mine when I read his. I have worked every day to provide. It would be an understatement to say my life was in a divide. I spent all l I had to teach him what was right.

I am a good father; a constant supplier of opportunity. I raised him passionately with the guide of Divinity. When I got home I would lay flat with the sweat beating down my brow;

Working hard to help my boy grow. He was such an odd, but precious child. I tried hard to curb the aspects of him that were wild and instruct him on living what was right. So why has he gone from my encompassing arms? In his prattle he spoke of how he couldn’t handle merely to settle to my hardened metal. I taught the line of black and white, but he apparently wanted more color. Even with the teachings brought from He who resides inside the empyrean, he sought the disparity he claimed as an identity.  


It’s been a long night talking with you. I have been struggling to grasp the weight of the burning inside my soul. It burns as the flame before us both

Listening to my slow drawl I hear the essence of why my scion took departure. I cannot forget his words of escape and final rapture. “My working father, I have tried to duplicate the example you have instilled, but I cannot reconcile the book you have grilled when it told to hinder the kinder inside my ticker. Your words to curb have done nothing to curve the strings alluring my love and passions.”


I was compassionate in raising him how he should. I never thought I would wake to read a note to gasp at the weight of the ceased momentum perpetuated from the Word of words. I hope to see his absence from the skies, for I have never been susceptible to such goodbyes. Now we will both live a life of silent nights. I have lost my right to fight



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