My Birthday

My birth arrived on a day I cannot recall,

But they tell me the solstice sun covered it all.

The longest of days, bathed in a summer glare,

A Father’s Day Sunday, heavy in the air.

Now, I find the calendar plays a cruel joke,

Preferring the quiet where the midnight spoke.

The extra hours of daylight offer me no grace,

Just a burning sun that I cannot embrace.

I seek the deep shadows where the timber stands tall,

Where the judging rays of the summer never fall.

I avoid the bright beaches and the glaring heat,

Finding my sanctuary in a shaded retreat.

But the years turn around, and the mocking returns,

A fatherless child while the solstice sun burns.

When the calendar aligns in its brightest display, The world only highlights what was taken away.