Another poem about my Dad for my American Lit. class. I have yet to get a grade on it, but I'll keep everyone informed. I still consider this a draft..but lets see what the reviewers think, shall we?
*12/21/08 Update: I've been slowly modifying this piece, so I'd like to thank those in this thread who've been giving me good suggestions to polish this poem up!
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It will find Its Way Through
I draw the curtain,
And make my way through,
Bracing for the moments,
Of my last time with you.
I walk slowly,
Dragging my feet,
To stand at your side,
And suffer defeat.
Is this really the end?
Is it time for farewells?
Or can I save you?
Does a solution dwell?
Right there it hits me,
So clear and so true:
Maybe if I just hold on,
I can protect you.
And so I hold you,
So dear and so close,
But the air around me whispers:
“This is not how it goes.”
I can hear it coming,
It knows its cue,
“Dad, it’s going to take you,
And make our time due.”
These walls of protection are breaking,
There’s nothing I can do,
Cause there’s no hiding from Death,
It will find its way through.
2008 Vincent Cuccolo
