Of Life in the Deep Blue

Yesterday, my son had no heart.
His languid philosophy left his lips limp
without ever learning
how to care. How can love fix that?

I saw the same stars, once,
through the hole in my once-apathetic core.
But instead of dwelling, I reached deep
and tore out a reason to keep living. And this filled my hole
with bliss.

My son never held a heart in his hands.
And I never gave him the wisdom to
free himself from feeding on a morbid world.
A good father would have been waiting
to stop and stir the truth in life in his son
without watching him cast out of the deep blue.

I only hope the gods of the tide
on the other side of the surface
can father him better than a broken man.