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To Father

To Father

A Poem by Pale Rose

We sit, it is warm and still,
and you fold your hands,
as if praying--useless--or thoughtful.
With my new eyes it was
obviously a fist, doubled.

For what comes out of your mouth
is not gracious or mindful,
but a harsh grating, grinding.
I hear the echo still,
it reverberates in my skull.

Alone we sit, eyes untouching,
and the air is so still, and yet
those noises, like razors shredding.
Stuck in me, fragments of hate,
without understanding or love.

Whittling me down, sharpening me--
though I was already serrated--
until I cut anything that came near.
And here I always thought I was worthless,
subhuman, undeserving of what could've been.

I can't remember how it ended now,
but I do remember the tears later,
wet with salt, sometimes red.
Those words are still in my head,
along with all the other things you've said.

© 2011 Pale Rose


Author's Note

Pale Rose
:(

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Added on February 7, 2011
Last Updated on March 2, 2011

Author

Pale Rose
Pale Rose

About
Poetry is the ultimate expression of humanity. It is the only tool we have to express the depth of our emotions and suffering. As for my own, I see the dark side of life and find it beautiful. I seek .. more..

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