My father was a silent man,
a sphinx that never gave me a chance
to solve its riddle.
He had few words to share
but he knew how to use them to stab me,
even in broad daylight.
I couldn't ignore his soft, polite cruelty,
his mild-mannered darkness.
I knew his where the whispers of a snake,
the treacheries of a seasoned trickster.
I just couldn't prove it.
He left nothing but ruins in his wake,
dust and stones, the bones of my youth.
What am I going to do now
with this mound of ashes?
He disappeared before his time
but I'm the one left
to pace the walls of hell.
Written by Mundus
Author's Note
This is a poem I wrote about a year ago. Still trying to heal from those old wounds.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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