The fog pours like soup across
the highway and I fell lost but
every set of headlights I pass is
my father’s blue eyes.
He was always best at navigating
the fog, a red and green light
always finding his way through
the harbors and safely home.
And I cry. I cry for Home. I cry
for him, for his unwavering
strength, for how he has taught me
how to avoid rocks with a blind eye.
Daddy, you have been my
radar, my sail and my wind, my
captain, my anchor and line.
Now let me be yours.
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