My father's agony is not yet done,
The demons still torment him in his dreams,
The legacy of church and maddened Mom,
His daily work is fueled by silent screams.

His five and eighty years of toil and care
Together with the fear of things unknown,
Have rendered him alone -- he cannot share,
Attention to his ranting having flown.

Myself, his only son, with feelings kind,
O'er time have scorned and pitied his self-hate,
And yet, have prospered from his strength of mind.
So how can he with pains and fears stave fate?

A force invested by his mother's plan --
When duty whispers low *thou must,* he can.

02/05/2002

Posted on 02/05/2002
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