Compassion (a poem)

For my father

Where does it hurt, dad?

I see the mind turning,

the drugs, the Reds, the volume on high:

anything to quiet inner voice.

What does it tell you, dad?

Don’t believe it;

I don’t care about your money,

or your conquests.

I love you for who you are:

my father.


5 responses to “Compassion (a poem)”

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: