From the day he was born he lost his mother.
“Bad boy”, boozer and bottles broke each other.
Son seeks scraps of affection among the litter.
Hard for father to care when all he tastes is bitter.
Love was a firm fist that dear daddy let fly.
This hard kiss taught that boys don’t cry.
Time ticks on, son soon becomes his own man.
Never lets others close, doesn’t know if he can.
Sets expressions to stone, some sad state of life.
No children there to love, hollow home, no wife.
Fearful of fate he’d bestow if he had his own son,
keeps his own company, counsel cold at they come.
Years crawl by and dear dad is now gone.
Stony son sits silent in a funeral for one.
No tantrums, no tears – dear dad wouldn’t approve.
Dull dirge deafens but there’s no heart here to move.
Some swore he was a monster, most agreed it was true.
But beast or not, it was the only father he knew.
Decades despair, break him little by little.
Still stands as stone but in places becomes brittle.
Cracks on his hard head are starting to show.
Desperate to flee from himself but has nowhere to go.
Cold old hands reach towards you for his first warm embrace.
Trembling fingers fear it’s too late & it shows on his face.
Copyright © 2015 Philip Craddock. All rights reserved.