My father's eyes were blue and wide,

But then the tragedy of life set in.

His large hands held what had been his

Sanity, until the sadness stole it away.

Weeks wandered by while he lay

In his cocoon of comforters inside

The castle he created out of

Isolation and misery. I so often

Believed that by his bedside must

Have laid the hope he once had,

Just further than his fingertips

Could reach. Rarely did I ever see

The man I believed him to be, because

Depression with a capital "D" dragged

Him far beneath. Heavy nights

Crushed his chest, and choking days

Turned sunlight into something sinister.

He turned from a father figure to

The man who stayed away from me.

I meant it when I told myself that I

Would dream of a dad who'd actually

Outwardly care for me. I couldn't see

That he was there through the walls.

He hid in shadows, shaded by the

Dark. It's fitting how he helped me

By not being there beside me. I

Learned how to love and loathe

With the same words. Whenever

I'd love someone, I'd loathe them.

I'd only ever admit to them owning

My heart just before they hammered

It to bits. It's terrible, I admit, but

It's how I learned to live. Eventually,

He came out of hiding, his hands

Still shaking without the weight to

Hold him steady. "Surely he sought

Out to hurt me," I believed this for

For many years that maybe I even

Hated him without the hate.

It gradually grew more daunting,

This frustration which fought me,

Clawing at my clavicle and choking

My entity. I only wanted to see

Him as a man and a dad and a

Person whose hands I could hold.

He had this goofy grin that could

Make me forgive any sins committed,

So I took his tired hands and held on.

My father's eyes were blue and wide,

But then he died, and now I'm left behind.