I am 14. A boy just in my teens.
The death of my father,
Was brought to me by the newspaper.
Head lines screamed.
As if more than my nights endless deep.
The media was banging away,
My soul was fading away.
I was trying to see reason,
All I heard is treason,
I was wanting to be with solitude,
In my mothers mourning and her altitude,
All I got is bytes, of sounds, bites of life.
My father is dead and gone, but you also killed me along.
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Comments about this poem (Fathers Hanging. by Hardik Vaidya )
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