He Was the Anchor, He Was the Storm

An anadiplosis poem

He was the anchor that dug deep in the sea, He was the sea split in heat by a volcanic wake, He was the volcano that sung us songs and lullabies — he was the lullaby that cradled our memories beneath a storm He was the storm with a calm third eye, He was the third eye that Knew all our hearts, He was our heart pinned beneath the sea by an anchor that will never let go

Here I am exploring what my father meant to me in an anadiplosis kind of poem. I think this poetic technique suits the emotions and the memory of the man who raised me and my sister. He was not only calm and wise, but strict, firm, and always a protector of us.

Thank you for reading!