He was my first Deity, my Lord
All I knew encircled Him
He was the sun and I followed in path
Capitulated to His moods,
Prayed for His mercy
Lived in fear of His wrath
After all he was My Father
But he bowed to a deity
Of his own
That either kept him cold and aloof
or filled with the spirit
of liquid hellish fire
of various proof
We tried to be as quiet as a church
In the middle of the night
But we never found a peace to be still
When I can be whipped awake
At any moment
For some ages old forgotten ill
And where was she you ask
When his fist and my face
Were making connections
How could she save me when she herself
Was in dire need
Of her own protection
Where do I go
This was my shelter
It was all I’ve ever known
I’m taught never to be where I’m not wanted
But what do I do when I’m a child
And where I’m not wanted is home
Well the first time I ran
I was soon returned
For I was very under aged
But I aired laundry in the process
And now both of them
Were enraged
Straight A’s brought not a praise
Chores lack brought not a reproach
His indifference became such
That I would push his buttons
With a cheeky little laugh
The only way to feel his touch
Knowing it was all
A fucked way to feel
Just added to vicious revolution
a penance to pay
For which there was never
an absolution
So when I broke out
And ran away part four
I just started living wild
No one ever said a word
what could they say
I am my father’s child
I’m told I should still love him
Pray for him
And wish him well
I say I do in the mere fact
that I simply
never wished him to hell
Some called me cold
Some called me tough
can handle any shit
But I grew up where
whining didn’t change a thing
so what was the point to it
My mother died first
and she I do miss
She did the best that she could
The next I saw him was to bury him
keeping a promise
he knew I would
He’s been gone
nearly a year
without any impact
I was an orphan
deep in my soul
long before I was in fact
====================
Mining the Memory–dVerse ~ Poets Pub Meeting The Bar :
Raivenne-lations 
So sad.
Unfortunately, so true. Thanks Q.
I know. That stinks. It’s amazing the stuff we come through.
“That which does not destroy, strengthens.”
Amen.
dang…i was an orphan ever before it was a fact…a breathtaking close…so much emotions roiling in me after reading this as well…ugh….what a hard life….well writ…you made me feel it…
“you made me feel it…”
Then I guess I’ve done my job. Thanks Brian.
oh heck…tears.. that tough feeling of not beeing wanted and trying to survive…a felt write
Thank you Claudia.
Sometimes memories hold all our sadness, only protection is here and now. I don’t know if anyone ever said, “I’m sorry to you, but I would like to, say it now.” No one should have those memories as their own.
“No one should have those memories as their own.”
Agreed. Thank you Anl4.
Tough write indeed and I understand the final stanza. How could you love him if you received no love from him…much admiration for your honest words.
Anna :o]
Thank you Anna.
Good riddance to bad rubbish!!
Its a very small world. This is a terrific piece about bad fathers [and mothers] and is in direct tandem of what I am about to post myself. Some memoreis of childhood are not worth the effort it takes to remember them. I am empathise with you throughout this, I feel the anguish and pain like it were my own, probably because it was.
If I prayed, I would, but I dont. But you are not alone. Lets not give the bastards the satisfaction of dwelling upon bad times, lets look forward to the great times our futures will bring.
“…lets look forward to the great times our futures will bring.”
Amen Tino!
So very sad… sorry you had to grow up like that.
Thank you Laurie.
Ugh – sadly, this happens more often than many of us care to admit. This is a well-written poem – very hard to read, full of strong images and emotions.
” this happens more often than many of us care to admit.”
For all the ones too scare or unable to admit/talk about it; that is the frightening part. Thank you Tony..
Heartbreaking and wonderful poem. I like how you are able to express some forgiveness in the poem in a way that was believable and didn’t “make everything okay.” The speaker of this poem is someone that I would like to know (although the mother in me does just want to take her home and protect her.) I like how you were able to draw those repsonses in me. Lovely read.
Sometimes you just can’t “make everything okay” and still be honest. I’m now a little old to be taken home and protected, but I thank you for the sentiment.
As I said to Brian above, that my words can draw these responses means I’ve done my job. Thank you, Heidi.
Completly my pleasure. And like Gretchen and Victoria, hugs.
Wow, just wow. I wish I could offer a hug. Where did all of the good dads go?
Oh the good dads are out there Gretchen. There are far too many good people in the world for all of them to have learned from bad examples. If we ever meet, I’ll take you up on that offer 😉
Thanks Gretchen.
The last lines were an exclamation point on a power-packed, sad, too-oft-repeated story. Well done. And I echo Gretchen…hugs!
Thank you, Victoria.
so osad and revealing
for the thousandth time
Thank you Zongrik.
ouch…nothing time could heal…you did not deserve that and I’m glad you seem to be at peace with it now..especially after writing about it 😉 So hard..
Luckily time can heal. Thank you Katy.
stark, hard edged beginning
powerful poem
Thank you Lucy.
The final two lines sum it all up completely, but
I simply
never wished him to hell
says so much about you. You should be very proud of the fact that you can say that – and of a fine, fine poem into the bargain.It is full of true feeling. Thanks for it.
I haven’t really thought much about that line. It was telling a truth, that I sometimes blame, sometimes thank my Christian upbringing.
Thank you David.
If this is true, you and I were cut from the same cloth. Some differences–Mom is still with us, but he is gone, and I did not go to his funeral–but otherwise, your experience is very similar to mine.
Excellent write, Raivenne. The painful truth can be turned into beauty.
If only this were not true, Charles. Quite a few of us were cut from this cloth. A handful of us come through it to turn pain into beauty.
Thank you Charles.