You will have been dead fifteen years tomorrow,
and yet not once have I visited your grave.
I was always busy; there was always time
to see you, to make amends. And yet, I feel
it's all a sham. I could make time, but I fear
the truth. It's easier to believe my lies.
If I went, I'd see your plot, see how you lie
untroubled, beneath the soil. Your tomorrows
ended many yesterdays ago. No fears
to face, no debts to pay. No decisions grave
to weigh your brow. Not like your son. How I feel
the heaviness of this life. There's too much time
and not enough. Lives end every day. It's time
to stop hiding from the pain. My future lies
along a path you've helped me walk. I can feel
your touch in everything I do. Tomorrow
is too late, sometimes. It shall not be graved
into history that I gave into fear.
For too long I feel I've lived a life of fear,
of caution, of safety, and, and yet such times
I had. Oh dad, you'd be turning in your grave
if you saw the choices that I made that lie
behind me. How I made it to tomorrow -
sometimes, I'll never know. When mom speaks, I feel
you then the most. She calls you brave, and I feel
that's the man I wish to be. You conquered fear.
I think I shall not wait until tomorrow.
I'm twenty three. When's better than now, this time,
to go make idle boasts and tell boastful lies
with my father? He who loved me to his grave?
Death is final, but it need not be so grave
as to eclipse all the joy you made me feel.
So, this year, there will be flowers, which will lie
as testament to a man who lived sans fear.
And instead of death, I shall speak of a time,
years past, when you made me long for tomorrow.