Forgiven But Not Forgotten Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

I stand here now with silver hair,
A man grown tall and wide,
But memories pull me back again
To the child I keep inside.

For every vase that hit the floor,
And every broken pane,
I was the one who took the blame,
The one who took the pain.

He pointed fingers, cold and sharp,
For things I did not do,
And whispered words that cut the soul:
'You're not my son, it's true.'

'You're just a bastard, ' he would say,
With eyes as hard as stone,
While I stood trembling in the dark,
Accused and all alone.

It took the turning of the years,
And decades slipping by,
To wash away the bitter sting
Of every shouted lie.

I've learned to soften up my heart,
To let the anger bend,
To say the words of peace at last,
And call the sorrow end.

But deep within the quiet night,
Where ghosts of childhood tread,
There is a flame that won't go out,
Still burning in my head.