Still Here In Many Ways

On this date four years ago, my father passed away.  Even though he’s gone, he’s still here in many ways.


You made me in your image,
fashioned me after great thought
and saw that I was good.

What drives a man
to create such a fuss–
share an ear for words,

those dashing looks–
my voice laced
with hints of yours?

We mastered two-wheel balance,
shoe-tying for the hopelessly
all-thumbed, the grammar behind

who and whom, lie and lay
suffered soul-searching
breaks from reality.

Like a child, I make believe
the fullness of your shadow
bears no weight upon me.


Author: chuck_snoad

I am a poet, philosopher and cultural critic living with depression.

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