Sill Waters Run Deep

The surreal in between

Existence and comprehension

The only conception of God

Was my father.

​

Asocially inclined-

Mumbling awkward phrases occasionally,

And I wonder

If my introverted conversion

Is intention immersion

Into the world God asserted,

​

Or if each time

I internally cursed,

"Autistic fuck!"

I was truly talking

To a perceived projection:

The self-critic's victim reflected

A father vying for his son's affection.

​

Then I retrace

To a brief moment

Before poor social grace

Held my focus:

​

When father sat on the

Edge of the bed

Took waning fingers across my back

Traced lingering figures

Where his son lay.

When father said,

"Still waters run deep."

​

I felt the feeling seep

Into my being- beyond bones.

Seeing life by God's word

I took on a softer tone.

​

Surreal to realize

My father mortal,

Yet the figures linger;

They burn upon my back

As I slip into still waters

Where father's voice is heard.

​

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9xcenc/ive_never_wanted_to_be_a_frog_so_badly/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9xemx1/good_for_me/