My father cries at night

like a ghost’s lonely moan

Lamenting for the helpless

behind closed doors

 

Reaching out

yet always pushed away

A silent shout demanding more

Lights frantically flashing

guilty brimming phrases

yet he does more

way more than he could

or arguably, what he should

 

A soul grieving for others

pinpointing it all on himself

It hurts knowing that even in his sleep

A place meant for peace

Instead, he screams

Unraveling all the seams

 

I don't sleep anymore

Neither does he

It was never just him

It was always “we”