the truth isI hated the man
my father
five years
I stayed away
five times
five hundred miles
the price paid
by my mother
such my anger
years lost
in the sea
of ignorance
still
I loved him
such is love
through all
the pain
all the hurt
I would this
day
pour his choice
and together
we would drink
and I would sit
not with
my anger or
pain or hurt
but I would
sit
with my father
as a father
knowing the struggle
to reach
a son
quiet as
a stone
a son
I love
as my father
one hand
reaching back
one forward
Love isn't rational, but forgiveness is.
ReplyDeleteBadger, this is true. About nine years ago I learned reconciliation did not need two people, but only one. That is when I forgave and let go of all the baggage I had been so painfully holding on to.
ReplyDeleteThis strange thing called life is full of struggles, joys, failures, successes, regrets and well... so on.
ReplyDeleteConsidering how simple and complex humans are, the thing I value the most is forgiveness.
The image is beautiful. Silky, blazing nebula with brilliant, colorful light spheres nestled within.
Thanks Deb. Nice to see you blogging again. :-)
ReplyDeleteSincere, expressive, forthright. Splendid. There's such a soft (mellowed, discerning) tone to the writing, regretful, but not despondent..there's reason to trust found within that fathers having been sons themselves, having in the years between observed and lived numerous relationships, and sons looking back will find a memory spirals from stance to stance, and as such the writing above is soothing, it is fatherly.
ReplyDeleteThanks Ms Storm. Here is another poem I'm working on that dovetails into this one. For your reading pleasure:
ReplyDeleteI have lived a strange life
which has left me alone
most of my life
when I was young
my interest was to
grownup things
for the things
I cared for
few children cared;
as I grew
somewhere,
I never noticed
I crossed a line
and what was before
was as night to day
a gradual process
I believe
gradual as wrinkles
and I found with
each passing year
my interest turning
to the interest
of a child
discoveries of wonder
in the most common
things
of joy in a cloud
and in this way
again
as before
I found myself
alone
as the things
of the adult
world
interested me
no more
than a weather report
from Jupiter