Some of us live such harsh lives sometimes the only thing that protects us is love |
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 |