Your Father Might Be Crazy

Out past the heights where hopefuls can respire,

on some exalted cliff that all can see,

to which all teenage martyrdom aspires,

but no adult will look, “There ‘go-eth’ he…”

A seventeen year climb it’s been, and I

have yet to reach the point of no return,

your silence screams. Each footfall says, “Goodbye!”

Goodbye, each sacrificial doll I burn!

Farewell, my children—languish in the void.

I can’t annex the nearest earthly womb

to give you birth, and I am overjoyed

that you might never have to build my tomb.

Hold on a moment longer, child; be brave!

I will not raise my children in a grave!