father.

in the quiet shadows of our home, where laughter once would freely roam. a fathers presence haunts the air, a love that's felt, but never there.

his chair sits empty by the fire. eyes glazed with dreams, lost in desire. a bottle clutched in a trembling hand. he's a broken man, that created a shattered land.

we speak in whispers, we tread on glass. our nights are long, the moments pass. he drifts away on liquid dreams, while life flows by in silent streams.

the echos of his laughter fade, replaced by silence, dark and weighed. a ghost of who he used to be, bound by chains we cannot see.

yet in those rare, clear moments bright, he shines a beacon in the night. a glimpse of love, a fleeting touch, reminders of a lost romance. a heart that's lost yet loved so much.

we yearn for him to find the light, to conquer these demons, and win the fight. but until that day we must hold our breath. and love him still despite the depth.

for in silence, hope remains. a fragile thread admits the pains, that one day he will return unbroken, and words of love will finally be spoken.