Poetry

 

" Father "

Trying hard to find myself to forgive you
through all the years
and wars we have fought,
blood-tied by our veins
blood-shed by our words
seeking so desperately to prove who was
victorious to claims that mattered to
no one
Your anger like jack knives slitting my throat
before my rebellious cries
Your rage consuming my weaknesses
after my dreams have been shouted down to
ashes
And now here I stand holding nothing in my hand
except the tainted medals of valor you won
in the Vietnam War- in the battles where it was
blood-tied to your comrades
blood-shed to your enemies
that the only time I ever saw you smiling was
when you proudly endeared me with your
treasured, tarnished medals
on my sixteenth birthday

Trying hard to find myself to remember you
past all the childhood of mine
you had missed
never-stopping to say I love you
never-modest enough to say I was wrong
With the yard stick in your hand you reigned
tyrant and law enforcer
appointing yourself judge, jury, executioner
Your punishments cut like briar thorns
Your hatred bore destruction for a son
who hated you back for the mother he had lost
through divorce.
And now here I cry holding nothing in my hand
except the postcard you sent at Christmas
for me written
I love you and
I was wrong
as the only time I recollect me smiling at you-
at your attached black and white photograph
of you standing in the Vietnam War.

 

 

 

Scorpio

Silent lover whose deep eyes
Conceal the secrets beneath and within,
Only to realize with his blind lust and
Razor wits, that he's a spy for his own
Passion; through a siege of thoughts
Incremented to his heart does he
Only know, and search his love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

        Desire

     Desire is a balmy- sapphire sky
     that holds dearly to your memory
     and remains
     latched to your heart and lingering.
     Spread on wings of glittered gold,
     set upon rolling crimson winds
     that whisper ever-
     so softly
     the names of past lovers,
     and blow the dying leaves
     to meadow-emerald graves;
     where you thought you
     knew what you wanted
     to realize
     they were dreams.

                                                        Thomas Cristopher Yu

 

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