Broken
He hit you
Again and again and again
Left bruises, scars
Emptied spirit bled dry in the unanswered questions of why
Your father
Who loved you
But how is it love; the beatings?
You hit me
Again and again and again
Left wounds, marks
Hollowed spirit sucked clean from the unquestioned answers of because
My father
Who loves me
And it is how it is; the beatings
I could hit him
Again and again and again
Leave bruises, wounds and scars
Destroy another in never-ending chains without questioning
A father
Who loves him
And it is love to say enough
Copyright SGW 2009
Footnote: Nothing about this poem is personal. My dad was the furthest from this as is possible, as was his father. I wrote this as part of an exercise in relation to this poem: Prevention.
1 comment:
I thought this might be stemming from your work. Glad to know that. I did know that you loved and respected your own dad.
I have an award for you at "Keepsakes", my friend.
Kat
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