(with apologies to Wallace Stevens)
I
Among many souls passed along,
The only one moving
Was the soul of my father.
II
I was of three hearts,
Like a child
torn between three beloved stories.
III
My father buzzed through his days.
It was a small part of his manipulation.
IV
My father and my mother
(were) one.
My father and the other[s]
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The memories of my childhood
Or the mystery of innuendoes.
The truth uncovered
Or just after.
VI
Words filled the infinite days
With stories of unknown verity.
The shadow of the truth
Danced around edges carved by elaborate tales.
The full text
an intricate machination
impossible to comprehend.
VII
My father of my childhood,
Why do you imagine golden tales?
Do you not see how the colors
infiltrate the world around you
blending—ultimately–into darkness?
VIII
I know your heart of justice
And the clear, inescapable beats of righteousness;
But I know, too,
That the lies are involved
In what I know.
IX
When my father left the first time
five days of vigil
one of many circles.
X
At the sight of his return
Flying in a golden light,
Even the doubts of a small child
Would vanish, simply.
XI
He found renewed life
In a fragile story.
Once, fear of truth pierced him,
But then clear honesty
Boldly embracing the lie as truth
XII
Time is moving.
My father’s life must be flying.
XIII
It was ending as it began.
It was his reality
And it was going to remain his reality.
My father wrote
the world he imagined he lived.
amyilene 
Truth mixed with imaginings. So many of us lead lives in between. Does something become true just because it is repeated over and over?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Just WOW! “V: the truth uncovered/or just after,” and “But I know, too,/that the lies are involved/in what I know.” So many thoughts and feelings in me reading this and “since feeling is first,” I feel like a lucky reader.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you….this one made me a little nervous to push out. So many apologies to poor Wallace Stevens!
LikeLike
He has to used to it by now…
LikeLiked by 1 person
The form and its potential for nuance suit a complex topic — not always how “Thirteen Ways of Looking at…” gets used. Just out of curiosity (and because April is around the corner), I googled the string, https://www.google.com/search?q=Thirteen+Ways+of+Looking+at
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love the complexity of your relationship with your father that you convey with this poem. I particularly love VII: “Why do you imagine golden tales?/Do you not see how the colors/infiltrate the world around you” And that last line is so powerful!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you
LikeLike
I really loved reading this! Each progressive number felt like a new truth revealed. There’s so much beauty here amid a difficult story. Your poem captures the complexity of being human (for the speaker and the father). Lovely!
LikeLiked by 1 person
my heart is with you.my heart is in you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Xoxo
LikeLike
So incredibly powerful. I am saving this to read again and again and again. Thank you for sharing your words. I love this format, too.
LikeLiked by 1 person