Cuffed Tears

In cuffs, I stood beside your grave today.

Dad, your passing filled the air with dismay.

Two officers watched, their eyes on me.

I felt their judgment, the weight of their decree.

The crowd around us wept and mourned,

their sorrow filled the air, it was forlorn.

Yet, my hate for you, it held me tight,

like chains that bound me, it dimmed the light.

I felt no grief, no tears to shed.

My heart, it seemed, was made of lead.

Am I heartless? Am I truly cold?

A question I ask, as I'm told

To return to the place where I reside.

In a cell, alone, my thoughts collide.

No tears for you, no love to spare.

Just memories of pain, of which I'm aware.

In the silence of my cell, I ponder.

The life we shared, the bond that splintered.

Is it wrong to feel this way?

Am I lost, or is this the price I pay?

For the choices made, the path I chose,

a life of crime, the pain it poses.

But at this moment, as I stand alone.

I can't help but wonder, is my heart made of stone?

Cuffed tears, they're all I can give,

a broken life, I've learned to live.

And though I'm not allowed to cry,

I mourn the man, the father, who said goodbye.

For you, dear dad, I feel no joy.

Just a deep, unending pain and ploy.

A heartbreaking poem, a testament to strife.

A son, in cuffs, a life forever tied.