Dad
comes to life again
but now halved
with fur in the void
nervous lighting sneaking into the eyes
the departing of the kingdom
falls back on nostalgia
and the coming of the kingdom
asks his father
"how's it going?"
the three words untuned
on the songs of innocence
like an empty silo
of memories stolen
by everything else
it says nothing
he holds my paw
in the chrysalis
the static energy squirming somehow
free from binding
a forceful chamber once
now unkempt
with deciding
I think of his body lowered
calm, fit from the lack of appetite
the glow and glowering
replaced with a succinct peace,
calling me his son
in the prideful disconnect
of being alive,
but instead he is dead again,
or this time, ghosted, but distorting
the affection the King remembers