A Father’s Grief in Rhyming Verse

His smile, a fleeting shooting star, replaced by chilling rest.
“Lost,” the word hung heavy, cold, a stone upon his chest.
The sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of fading light,
His heart, a shattered mirror, reflecting endless night.

The news, a cruel joke’s punchline, twisted, dark, and mean,
His future, once a playground fair, became a haunted scene.
He paced the room, a restless ghost, memories sharp and bright,
Her touch, a phantom warmth, her smile, a beacon in the night.

The News: A Pack Of Lies

The news is awash with stories, but none of them seem to matter. They’re all just soundbites and stats, opposing views that never meet.

I scanned the headlines today, looking for something to care about. But it was all the same old stuff, nothing that could make a difference.