A bird with a broken wing

I want to write a poem for you
But you don’t really let people in
So I can only write for the father I’ve had
Not the one you wish you had been

Deep beneath the skin of a man
little boy cries frozen in time
For a mother far too cruel
And a father that followed behind
You cast us in your play
Reruns of a tragic life
But our free will makes you turn away
Fossilized lichen intertwines

The child you raised lay broken
Your lack of action astounds
I am your bacteria
There is no more soap to be found

Is it the still waters stagnant
that crave the ocean so?
Currents out of reach
You reach for the heavens too slow
Earth slips away
Ideals plummet below
Even the tallest mountain
Looks like a hill
from far enough at bay

A synthetic garden
Where only dead things can grow
Whale bones and saltwater
An ancient rot exposed

The point of it passes by you
Chained by the ‘right’ way
In the bitter winds of conflict
Your ancient convictions sway
A superficial performance
The depths have long since died
Algae blooms in its place
A facsimile of life