Father,

I am the guider of souls,

That shows them the light,

Or the depths of fire,

We’ve only heard of on our hypocritical Sundays. 

Wondering listlessly,

They look at me with placid eyes,

Unaffected by their state of being.

A peacefulness washed over them,

That can’t be felt by the living,

And especially by you. 

Father,

I am the keeper of lore;

The fairies that dance around your head,

Pixies fluttering with belief. 

The Angels that expand their wings,

And envelop you with their horrible truths.

The truths you never could live up to. 

Father,

I am the hearer of demons,

 Gods of the underworld.

The nightmares that remind you,

That we are all still alive,

In some sense of the word,

Even if you were never there to see it.

Father,

I am the seer of everything.

The one who knows where you were,

Where you are,

And where you choose not to be.