(Part 2 – Goodbye, Dad)

A month has passed

since my dad

went to the front.

I'm worried,

I can't deny the thought.

It's been so long,

I don't know what's wrong.

Did he die in that blast?

I have no clue, perhaps not,

maybe he's fighting,

on bloodlines and pride surviving.

He was always so full of cheer,

and now all I see is gray fear.

Since the war began,

everything is muddled,

so dense,

I can barely stand.

The sky is sad,

but still it strives,

rising with pain

from each fall, like I.

I don't doubt he'll return,

a hero with medals to earn.

But I can't help

thinking the worst—

this heavy fear

is my constant curse.