I stand imprisoned… with a vow |
Drunken Sins… My papa, he had children – three, now two are dead and gone. And while I was the lesser liked – ‘tis me who carries on… He looks at me with spite and hate; my feelings he so desecrates! For I was born a ‘special’ child so different from the rest. And though my papa treats me ill my mama claims I’m blessed. But oh the looks he throws my way - he shakes his head and draws away… My early years were fraught with pain, such hideous abuse. And in his drinking I became his whimsical excuse to raise his hand - upon me wage a war that sparked his brutal rage. Oh how I feared to creep inside my melancholy house. I’d tread most lightly with each step; in silence - like a mouse. He’d break me were I dare to wake - dear God how my soul used to quake… And then one day he took a ride with mama and the twins. He wrecked them in a frenzied storm chocked full of drunken sins. And in his wake - there was -- but I… the one he turns a blinded eye. How cruel – events that shape our lives, they enter through the heart. And now that there is only me – I can't, alas, depart. He’s all alone - and drinks all day. I can't abandon him this way. Oh, that I could! For I despise the things that he’s now done. He’s taken all I’ve ever loved! And yet -- I'm still his son. One's family has a noose-like hold. a son has duties – not foretold. So I've remained with dearest dad who never wished me wife; At forty five - I’ve yet to know the ecstasies of life. We understand each other well – as glares exchange our common hell. My papa is now old and gray with nothing left to lose. He has no inkling of the harm he’s done imbibing booze… Thus, I remain with furrowed brow - and stand imprisoned… with a vow. |