Adopted


I have a father like every one else; I never met him,
This got me crazy, searching from house to house;
An obsession, that became a way of my whole life.

I asked mother what he looks like, yet, she gave me
Such details, in which pompous neighbors disagreed;
I can't live under false pretence, that I don't need him.

Nor, I lose the eagerness of knowing him, but
These charades keep on racking my aging brain;
I just can't believe why he doesn't remember me.

Thou, unseen since I took my first grand step,
Still, he has control over many things, and I don't;
I really tried to escape from reality.

But, his ruthless strength constantly reminds me of
The past; as fleeting time vanishes like morning fogs,
Pushing me harder into holding the sliver of light.

And, my crimson heart still beats what it has believed
Right from the beginning, which he's a potter; and I'm
Just one of his many works: a good reason, to trust him.




Poetry by Ernesto P. Santiago
Read 583 times
Written on 2007-02-17 at 17:09

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