MY FATHER’S BOOK

My Father kept a book
For in that book he wrote
Every hidden thought
Every little note
Of every little whim
Every fancy, everything
Every nuance of his heart
To make sweet muses sing
Until his book would swell
Bloated through with thought
His book just grew and grew
While father shrunk to naught
Somehow his life just stalled
Maybe fear maybe sloth
Maybe a different path
Wandering tangled and lost
Every stranger’s anger
Carved another notch
Into his battered heart
Until he couldn’t watch
A world torn by Man
Not caring for it’s young
Chilled by seeping fear
Upon its setting sun
Meaner and harder
Cold as cyberspace
Hypnotized by computers
Entranced. What a waste
Compassion lay dead
Forgiveness lay there
In a world travelling faster
But travelling to where?
It’s a uniform world
With its uniform thought
Whose uniform people
Are uniformly caught
Doing self serving things
Chatting the same way
Looking for stray individuals
Whose thoughts they can slay
Until Father went mad
He mourned for his girls
Forced into dark crevices
Of this isolated world
They hear all the murders
Learn of all the rapes
Pouring putrid from TVs
In open tidal waves
Powerless to control
Powerless to save
Hero or coward
To hide alone in a cave
Away from this madness
Safe harbour from its greed
Away from everything
That made Father bleed
Yes, my Father kept a book
And in that book he wrote
About a crazy world
Where only angels spoke
Where gentle and kind
Compassionate ones
Held hands while singing
Loudly at guns
Every hidden thought
Every little note
Reminding my Father
True love can cope
It conquers killing
Hatred and fear
It conquered my Father
With the tiniest tear
From a little girl’s eye
What little girls give
To strengthen their father
So he may live
In this coldest of places
With its colder look
Holds the love of this man
Who wrote in his book

by David Peter Robertson