Shadows

         𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜

                   ᴮʸ· ᴵᵈˡᵉ

              𝐈

    Within these walls where shadows dance and play,

    A child seeks refuge in a storybook,

    While amber bottles mark the close of day,

    And heavy footsteps echo from the nook.

    The father that I knew has slipped away,

    Replaced by someone I dare not to look—

    A towering shade where once stood stalwart clay,

    Whose presence turns each corner to a hook.

    I paint new worlds in colors bright and bold,

    Where dragons soar and heroes never fall,

    Where memories of love do not grow old,

    And darkness cannot reach me through the wall.

    Yet through my tales of light and sweet pretense,

    The scent of whiskey leaves me growing tense.

              𝐈𝐈

    What's real and what's imagined starts to blur,

    As photographs show smiles I can't recall.

    Were there warm embraces? I'm not sure—

    Those memories rest beyond my mental wall.

    The monster and the father both occur

    Within the same frame, standing straight and tall.

    Which version should my heart choose to prefer?

    Which story lets me make some sense of all?

    Some nights bring thunder, others bring the rain

    Of gentle words that might be memory,

    Or wishful thoughts to ease a child's pain—

    Two versions of what was and couldn't be.

    I close my eyes and try to understand

    The stranger who still holds my father's hand.

               𝐈𝐈𝐈

    Time es like a river flowing fast,

    Yet certain moments freeze like winter's chill:

    A shadow-father from the distant past,

    Whose presence makes my grown heart stand still.

    I thought these stories wouldn't always last,

    That growing up would help me fit my fill

    Of understanding what had come to

    Between the pages of my youth's strange quill.

    Yet here I stand, still caught between the tale

    Of what was real and what I chose to see,

    While amber scents still make my senses quail

    At shadows of what was, what couldn't be.

    Perhaps some stories need no ending clear,

    Just understanding of why they appear.

I kinda got out of my comfort zone on this one- sonnets are pretty hard in my opinion, especially when it comes to trying to get that rhythm down and follow all the rules. I'm sure I broke some- you're free to call that out. But uhm... Hopefully you enjoy these pieces nonetheless.

and to anyone else out there who suffers from the effects of alcoholic parents, just know you're not alone - and... When you get out, it does... to some extent, get better.

stay strong.