With almost a flat open
I still could not see
The words in the letter
Bestowed upon me
Seldom had I yearned to be
At the peak of staggering mountains
For I often found myself
In hollow valleys
Of dry, echoing lands
An invisible thirst to cherish
And be cherished:
The bastard hidden at
The castle’s cabin everlastingly waiting
For his father’s incoming call.
Son come to me
May my lack of pleas
Be repented, for you
Are not perfect
But you have always remained merciful.
I will come to your hands father.
Merely open them to me.
Let me Listen to your Cry
Your Demand for Me
For that is purely just
What I need to hear
Can a call be a letter?
Bestowed upon me
The flat lay there open
But I still couldn’t reach
And so the bastard’s plea
Remained unsaid.
He craved to read the letter
That remained unread