Dad
My Poem “Everything to Me”
On the night after my Dad died, I ran away into the city - I wanted to lose myself within the metropolis of people, because I felt like I had lost something inside of me... on the night after my Dad died, I walked the illuminated city streets not knowing where I was going to go, nor who I was going to meet... on the night after my Dad died, I felt more alone than I had ever felt in my life... on the night after my Dad died, I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout, I wanted to cry - but, in all honesty, I could not control my emotions so instead I felt numb but as if I were walking around with a gaping wound in my chest that exposed my bleeding heart that felt like it had been repeatedly stabbed by a knife. On the night after my Dad died, I unexpectedly met some new friends who all already knew one another and who had gathered together to share a Christmas drink - and though I had never met any of them before I knew that there was something to my meeting them that seemed like someone or something wanted me to form a brand new link... on the night after my Dad died, I remember being angry at whomever or whatever had taken my Dad away from me... on the night after my Dad died, I could not believe what had happened, what I had seen - and even now, and always, I will never be able to comprehend this nightmarish new reality I am living in that I wish was just a bad dream. On the night after my Dad died - after spending most of the night talking, connecting, and intoxicated, with my new friends - I said goodbye, and then, after I somehow made my way home, I reflected upon what had happened through a mirrored torrent of tears, and I wondered what was going to happen next and who I now was - and though no clear answers came to me, I knew that my world, as I knew it, had come to an end. My Dad is always with me - I feel him around me, within me, like the glow and the feeling of some kind of perpetual spirit and light that I know is my Dad speaking to me, reaching out to me, guiding me, giving me the gift of his unending love that will always mean everything to me. -Mark Hastings 22/12/22 In memory of my Dad, David William George Hastings 6/1/1949 - 8/12/2022
A Poem A Day #627: A Light in the Dark
A Poem A Day #565: The Man at the Window
My Poem “Within Me, Without You”
This is the first Father's Day that my Dad has not been with me and when I have not been with my Dad... this is the first Father's Day that I will be unable to hold my Dad's hand and give him a well-deserved hug... this is the first Father's Day that I won't get to look into my Dad’s blue eyes and see shining from them a light of enduring love... this is the first Father's Day that I will be unable to see my Dad's smile and celebrate how amazing a father he has always been - and that makes me extremely sad. Every day, more than anything, I wish that my Dad was still with us... this Father's Day, I feel gratitude as well as pain - because I know how lucky I was that my Dad was my Dad, but he has passed on to the world beyond and because he is no longer where he always was - by my side - there are times when I look around at the world and I feel deeply lost. My father will always be a force of nature to me - someone who all my life has influenced my thoughts and actions, and who will never stop inspiring me... my Dad continues to speak to me through my dreams, through his teachings, through what he gifted me, through the numerous talismans that he left behind that will forever tie him to me... this Father's Day, I feel as if I am walking in the dark - but with an ever-glowing light that all my life has tied me to what has always been constant and true... this Father's Day, as well as every day, I feel, more than words could ever say, that I can hear the voice of my Dad within me, guiding me; and to my Dad, on Father's Day, I want to say that I love you, I miss you, and that life will never again be the same without you.
A Poem A Day #536: Always With Me
A Poem A Day #524: World’s Best Dad
My Poem “The Sound of His Voice”
People often try to emulate the appearance, the mannerisms, and the actions of others... people often try to step into the shoes and take on the responsibilities of someone else... people often try to recapture times, memories, and experiences - because people do not want to lose anything that matters... people often try to forget about the times when people fell - because falling in any way is a tale telling sign of our humanity, and though we may not want to admit it no one is invulnerable. People often try to echo the ideas of others, people often try to speak for others, people often try to imitate the voice of others - but there are some voices that can never be reproduced, because the voices of some people are unique: take my Dad, for example, whose spirit and whose voice I can still hear, and I will always hear every day, within my mind, in undeleted answer phone messages, in the memories of him and me that I will never forget, that I will always recall, that will always make me cry as well as always make me smile - because there will never be anyone like my Dad, nor could there ever be anyone with the same caring, compassionate, and calming cadence that was ever-present every time anyone heard the unmistakable and the unforgettable sound of his voice.
My Poem “Always With Me”
Every day, I climb the hill to stand alongside, to speak to, and to hear the voice of my Dad - as I always have, and as I always will, because my Dad will always be the golden light that guides my way... every day, I feel like my Dad is still with me - because he is; wherever I look at a photograph of my Dad I know that he is standing alongside me, with an arm around me, as he whispers his lasting wish: "Be there for those who matter the most"... every day, when I am with my Dad the sound of birdsong can be heard all around, and often times a robin or a pair of magpies visits also and sings in a nearby tree, which always makes me smile at the same time that I start to cry... every day, I tell my Dad I love him and I miss him and I feel the touch of love from my Dad that I always felt when I looked into his eyes, when in my mind I felt our unique connection - which is why I will always remember, and why I will always reflect upon, what my Dad did for me and what he will always mean to me - and even now, every day, and forever I know more than ever that even though my Dad may now rest atop the hill, what made him who has was, who he is, and who he will always be, will always be with me wherever I go.
My Poem “Rise to the Occasion”
Life constantly teaches us new lessons... Life never stops posing questions... Life has a way of showing us just how much we do not know about ourselves and about how we will react when we are tested... Life gives us what we need, who we need, to complete various activities - sometimes in the form of memories, recollections, and experiences that we have accumulated; however, there comes a time in our life when we must all step out of our comfort zone and step into a reality that may come to define the rest of our lives. My life was completely and irrevocably changed when my Dad died... my life was thrown off course from the moment that I realised nothing was ever going to be the same again... my heart, my soul, my world was shattered beyond repair from the moment that I felt as if a shard of the mirror of self-reflection became impaled within my mind... my life was darkened from the instant that I knew I was going to be scarred by a pain that would never go away. Every day, for as long as I can remember, I have been taking the steps and walking the path that I needed to walk so that I may give as much as I could to those who needed it... every day, for as long as I have been on my new life's mission, I have marched like a soldier and done what had to be done... every day, and for all the days ahead, I am keenly aware that the architect of what lies over the horizon will ask of me to be ready for whatever peak towards which I may need to make an ascent... every day, I wish that I could go back and change something that has happened armed with the gift of hindsight - but, because no one can ever know exactly what will happen until it happens, all that any of us can do when asked, and when given a choice to act, is to do our very best as we keep going, keep climbing, and keep rising to the occasion.
Mark The Poet 