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Father

April 25, 2012
By Anonymous

With dark he’d arise,
Weekday, weekend,
He never stopped.

With a frantic voice,
He’d call to me to wake,
To start the day,
Yet his had been started hours prior.

Uncaring, id reply,
Disregarding,
Forgetting,
Walking by.

Yet,
How could I have known
How cold and bare,
Tense,
The ceaseless desk and chair.

© Anonymous

The author's comments:
This piece is about my Dad and how dedicated he is to his work and making sure my family is fully provided for. In this poem i wanted to address the fact that his work often goes unrecognized, and it often times is lonely sitting in an office all day.
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