Childhood Times With No Father Poem by Phelps Tin

A rose,
Gets its colour and fragrance,
From the root,
And man,
His virtue,
From his childhood.

A morning shows my day,
And my childhood,
Shows the man,
That I was,
to be,

How could I be,
The man I was supposed to be,
When I have no father,
There to support me,
In my childhood times,
When he was most needed.

How could I be,
The man I was supposed to be,
When I'm just a shadow,
A shoot,
That has just risen,
From the cracks,
Of a desert,
With a missing root.

How could I be,
The man I was supposed to be,
When there were no others,
Standing up for me,
Whilst everybody harmed me…
Like someone,
Who was trying to escape in the darkness,
Running,
Also listening between his footfalls,
To the scolds that consistently chased,
After him.

How could I be,
The man I was supposed to be,
When afterschool,
‘Friends' lock me in,
One of those medieval classrooms,
Leaving me,
Sweating like molten iron,
From the centre of my chest.

I attempt to forget about him,
My absent father,
But he's here in my head when I close my eyes,
Dug in deep behind enemy lines,

The father who was never there,
To take care,
This absence, I cannot bear,
It really isn't fair.

How could I be,
The man I was supposed to be,
With no father at all,
With nobody,
to support me.

My world, a tiger's cage,
Me, a mouse.
My soul,
A place of pandemonium,
Which would have been worthier,
With one warm kiss,
Had there been anyone to offer this.

But I tried to look at it,
Another way,
Pretending to smile,
But there were never one,
Never,
Who smiled back…