A ghost I tried to call

A ghost limb, a phantom hand,

A father's shape upon the land.

I see his form, I hear his name,

But feel no warmth, no kindred flame.

He moves through rooms, a distant breeze,

A whispered word, a rustling trees.

He builds a wall of quiet space,

Where I can't find a loving trace.

A hollow echo in the hall,

A silent answer to my call.

He's present, yet he's far away,

A sun that hides its golden ray.

My heart, a compass, spins and sighs,

Searching for truth behind his eyes.

I have a father, it is true,

But feel no bond, no "me and you."