The Awful GodA Poem by David Lewis PagetRichard
Bryce was a mystery, He
lived on a back street lot, The
house was the old half-timbered sort, Paint
peeled on the old wainscot, The
blinds were drawn through the day and night And
the garden a neighbourhood moan, Full
of the bodies of rusting cars And
creepers, all overgrown. We
rarely saw him out in the street But
he’d peep from the side of blinds, And
stories were told in the neighbourhood That
were often more harsh than kind, There’d
been a wife and a daughter once But
they hadn’t been seen in years, Since
the echoing raft of arguments, Doors
slammed, and a flood of tears. Old
Grandpa Bryce had lived in the house Since
thirty odd years before, He’d
worked in the woollen fulling mill ‘Til
it closed, just after the War, His
son had drowned in the old mill stream, Was
caught in the paddle wheel, And
Grandpa Bryce was left with the child, To
raise, and be brought to heel. For
Grandpa Bryce was a steely man Who
lived his life by the book, More
like a Prophet, this Abraham Believed,
whatever it took, That
‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ Would
be how that his Grandson learned, As
he laid the rod across Richard’s back ‘Til
the flesh turned red, and burned. There
was never a ministering angel there To
offer the boy relief, Only
the hard-edged wooden pew In
the church, on a Sunday eve, And
Abraham led the final prayer In
a voice that would damn and blight, ‘Beware
you sinners, the Awful God Will
come unseen in the night!’ Richard’s
mother had died in pain In
the blood of the afterbirth, She
never returned to her home again But
was placed, six foot in the earth, He
never knew of a mother’s love, But
only a Grandpa’s pain, And
Bryce had ruled the daughter and wife ‘Til
they fled one night, in the rain. The
house was suddenly silent then Just
two of them, left alone, Grandpa
suddenly old and frail, He
never went out on his own, And
Richard boarded the windows up So
you couldn’t see in from the street, It
looked like an old abandoned place ‘Til
the police called round, last week. We
all stood out in the street and watched As
Richard came out of the house, His
hands were cuffed and his hair stood up And
he looked quite down in the mouth, There
must have been twenty cops in there, All
milling around the place, And
one threw up in a paper cup As
we strained to look at his face. It
all came out in a day or two Just
what they had found in there, The
place was sparse, but a giant cross Stood
gaunt in the putrid air, The
skeleton of old Grandpa Bryce Had
been crucified, up tight, And
nailed to his skull: ‘The Awful God Will
come unseen in the night!’ David
Lewis Paget © 2012 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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Added on September 16, 2012Last Updated on September 16, 2012 Tags: fulling mill, steely, rod, angel Author
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