In
my dreams last night, I spoke to my dead father.
He
nether answered me nor could he look at me
Directly.
Is there peace and happiness where you
Live
now, I wanted to know? Unanswered, just a
Rigid
distant gaze. It was the same for him as it
Had
been years before he died—no words, no emo-
Tion.
And this condition was now meant to be his
Eternity.
In life for him it was much the same. He
Never
spoke of home. The silent desire for place
Would
always remain. Many have told me that I am
Like
my father in so many ways—same solemn fore-
Head,
same stalwart nose, and that remote look,
Our
shared, aeonian longing for home. In my mind,
Dear
Father, the search shall carry on faraway
Somewhere
beyond the memory of stars.
Chris
Hanch 4-17-17
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