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”


This poem is about: 
My family


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