Hockey...a family favorite
so much a favorite that we always go see live games
and so, Dad prepares to take me to one such game
on a dark, star-filled night...
Mother dearest tells us to be careful as the
two of us step out into the cooling night
walking for a while until we reach a lonesome
bustop, waiting for our ride to the game
While I wait ever so patiently, Dad suddenly walks away
to the opposite side of the street, talking with a
suspicious gray-haired man who reeks of cunning...
why would my Dad converse with somebody like him?
The bus has come, and I'm alone at the bus stop...
what could be taking my Dad so long?
I look behind the bus, expecting to see him and
the stranger still chatting...but I was wrong
All I can see is a wide expanse of grass and homes,
not a single human being in sight...no stranger...
and no sight of my Father...he is gone,
gone with the feeling of joy I had previously
Screaming, shouting, begging as tears fall
down my face, I look everywhere for him,
aware that I am now alone, in a dark world
where strangers take away all you hold dear...
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of Dreams
PoetryA dream is a powerful and spiritual thing to experience, and a poem is a creative way to express your emotions. What would happen if these two concepts were combined?
