Should I cry of guilt

For using poems as paint

To imagine the pieces of you I’ve not forgotten

Giving a life to all the days you’ve been gone


Painting a face into poem

So it can fly like the birds

In the seas

In the skies

With your name


A portraitist I am, illuminating

Your smiles, your face, your love

Father, I am because you were


My innocence is so in guilt

For having to masquerade how I feel

To not tell you often, that I love you