Sceptic

The child

who played with his fingers

his child- his very own

and the answer to his wife’s prayers

he poured all the love over his son

which in a past day was all bottled up

doubting forever, his feelings

he departed only later to realize

that he was in pieces

the last solemn glance of her that he saw

was etched to the heart of his hearts forevermore 

seizing it and tormenting it now and then

what pain, doubt’s sting would

into his conscience send

repentance at not realizing what true affection was

while looking it in the eye,

he paid for it with all later days of his life

now, the little him clutches at the wedding ring on his finger

in the background melts his wife’s crinkles into a smile so tender

Maybe, he resolved, this was how it was finally meant to be

Love, first or second was to equally answer heart’s yearnings

or to support it through life merely...