He was my world
His armour shone
Glittering like diamonds in my eyes
He said I was his best friend
In my eyes, he was the world’s strongest man
His words, always to be obeyed
I made excuses for his absences
Hid my disappointment
And tears in his broken promises
I would have died for him
His name was reverent on my lips
His friendship, I felt, was mine for keeps
He said we’d share all he had
His praise meant the world to me
I don’t remember seeing much of him
Though I believed that words were meant
To be spoken in a slur
That stale breath, an angry voice and red eyes
Were a sign of male strength
And that the teetering walk was just his style
I was five
He was forty-two
He was my dad
PoP © 27 Jun. 07
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3 comments:
Well spoken! It takes a real man to be a father. Your poem not only gives voice to the voiceless of the voiceless - the innocent children - but it is also a reminder to the forgetful and is steadily emerging as an essential part of our national conscience by your choice of subjects. You cry with and for the afflicted and arouse the slumbering.
very touching, manze ive really felt this one
this is a great thing you are doing. these are great poems you are sharing. i haven't read the rest but if this is anything to go by...i know i will love. and your address i add to my to-be-visited-often list.
speak sista SPEAK!
cheers.
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