A Father's Regret Poem by Lynn W. Petty

Who can endure, from day to day,
the spectacle of an unveiled human heart
with all its vanities, and all its weaknesses,
desires, pain and regrets; the pain
of that regret in not having gained that deep
relationship; the privilege of knowing who
that person is I call my son?
Somehow, there seems to be a gulf between
our lives. I tried to know, I thought,
but he had left before I learned.
This inmost loss between a father and son is spiritual privation,
wrenching soul almost beyond remedy.
What value is gained when, through desires and
selfish purposes, one may lose that intimate rapport
between oneself and one's own child. How hard
to bridge across that emptiness of forfeited time.
We still attempt to fill that void by talk, but not the deep philosophies
of life. Our calls are full of idle chatter:
"And, how are you? "
"Just fine, and you? "
"You Are? "
"Not much to tell."
"The same for me."
"Well, give my love to all."
"O.K. Good-bye, "
and, hang the phone upon its hook to wait and hope
another day for dialogue containing more profound
expression; one's more deeper thoughts.
Oh, well, this day has passed. I wait to share
with him a laugh, a tear; perhaps a time...another time,
when he and I...

'The phone? '
"Hello? ' and so on,
"Yes, I will. Good-bye."