Drunken Sins… Poem by Robin Millstone

My papa, he had children - three,
now two are dead and gone.
And while I was the lesser liked -
‘tis me who carries on…
He looks at me with spite and hate;
my feelings he so desecrates!

For I was born a ‘special' child
so different from the rest.
And though my papa treats me ill
my mama claims I'm blessed.
But oh the looks he throws my way -
he shakes his head and draws away…

My early years were fraught with pain,
such hideous abuse.
And in his drinking I became
his whimsical excuse
to raise his hand - upon me wage
a war that sparked his brutal rage.

Oh how I feared to creep inside
my melancholy house.
I'd tread most lightly with each step;
in silence - like a mouse.
He'd break me were I dare to wake -
dear God how my soul used to quake…

And then one day he took a ride
with mama and the twins.
He wrecked them in a frenzied storm
chocked full of drunken sins.
And in his wake - there was -but I…
the one he turns a blinded eye.

How cruel - events that shape our lives,
they enter through the heart.
And now that there is only me -
I can't, alas, depart.
He's all alone - and drinks all day.
I can't abandon him this way.

Oh, that I could! For I despise
the things that he's now done.
He's taken all I've ever loved!
And yet -I'm still his son.
One's family has a noose-like hold.
a son has duties - not foretold.

So I've remained with dearest dad
who never wished me wife;
At forty five - I've yet to know
the ecstasies of life.
We understand each other well -
as glares exchange our common hell.

My papa is now old and gray
with nothing left to lose.
He has no inkling of the harm
he's done imbibing booze…
Thus, I remain with furrowed brow -
and stand imprisoned… with a vow.