Old man

My father asked me if I could eventually defeat my demons.
I told him yes, with a few hugs and a human sacrifice.
I miss him often, more than I can bear.
I look often to the heavens I don’t believe in, hoping he is smiling on me.
My father asked me if the frequency and intensity was sustainable.
I told him I had no idea, but that isn’t how decisions are made.
I see him in the little shadows near the stairs.
I still seek his council in troubled times of want and need.
When I was a little man, not a grown man, but old enough to know better, obstinance carried me through my days.
Then I became an old man, and the obstinance was replaced by a genuine sense of loneliness and uncertainty.
Failing to appreciate the safety when I had safety to appreciate is a hallmark of my arrogance.
My life is a failed suicide foretold by the meaningless orientations of constellations.
My father asked me if I had lived a good life and been a good man.
I told him no, the story of my life has not yet been finished.
I hear him in the words of the people who work the dirt.
I continue to seek his approval despite the obvious.