The writer’s talents are underwhelming,
His emotions are consuming,
He dreams of nothing,
He always wants for something.
He thinks he knows best,
So he tells the rest,
For he is just to be a pest,
But always looking to the west.
Is his life ending,
Is his life beginning,
Is his wife understanding,
Is he dieing.
He as a child, so overwhelming,
His likeness, so understanding,
His plight so depressing,
His future so telling.
The writer tries looking to the east,
Looking for the signs of a new quest,.
But turns to the west,
Looking for the signs that dad knew best.