[asylum]

It was my secret little place, my favorite away from home,
I usually sit and hang my legs off the edge of the railings and cast away alone.
The bobber would catch on the moss I mostly caught along with little fish,
so it was hard to see it dip below the surface when I’d snagged our dinner’s dish,
but gramps taught me to watch the end of the pole, so slightly dipping when they bit.
We’d sip on fresh made lemonade in an ice chest we brought with,
He used to bring me to the ballgames and we’d go crazy for the home runs,
But not as insane as the first time we caught a catfish, just the sight of it made me throw up!
I miss my grandfather so much when I look at his legacy, I feel I don’t deserve to lose him,
yet sitting by his side feeding him, misleading when convincing I’m his father to soothe him,
leaves bruises inside of my heart that I know will never heal.
It’s just a part of life. More pain I’ll need to conceal.
So every night I head to our bridge and clean up the trash, knowing he’d be proud of his kid,
hoping someday in the future, I’ll be fishing in heaven with him.
The Georgia summers get warm, we’d take dips in the pond,
skip rocks across the surface disturbing our image and frogs.
Before school one morning, I met Lola on the bank.
Just fishing on the lake, waiting for the fog to eventually break,
She was an image of a goddess and the oddest sense of love enveloped me,
as we gaze into each others eyes, realizing this was our destiny;