Troubled Coast Absent Father Holy Ghost
I talked about our future plans. I felt you shake while hand-in-hand. I watched the wind lift through your sleeves as nature spoke capriciously.
You were once a note, a catholic choir inside my head. An off-time melody struck with the perfect chord, but now it’s gone. And as the sun began to fade the waning moon rose to its place
and cast a light so timidly over your face and you softly said, “Please take me home.” I’m going home by your side, the holy ghost’s in your sight. My father’s traits don’t define and intentions seem to hide. Like black bars on the bylines, like boxes behind charred brick walls inside your mind and you’re slipping slowly. And when I reach for you your hands divide.
