His
children,
pronouncedly
exploding
amidst
a carnival
of
joviality—
He spars—daily—
In the pugilistic
cage
of ends-meet grind
At
a time much past the dinner hour
he
waits, for moments—assembling
what
cheer’s left standing
outside
his front-door—
Punch-drunk
from
corruption,
and
it’s bare-knuckled ends
but
bruises alone—
could not damper
the atmosphere
within
And
to his howling innocents,
he needn’t pretend—
grinning,
as pride returned—
and
with each an arm to clasp quite close
remember, he did,
the
many reasons why
so hard he tried
I can see this so clearly. Superb writing, Fred.
ReplyDeleteAnd for some it can grow darker still for right and wrong is surely different for all. With the whole might makes right to the live and let live, many interpretations so many give. Creating a rift in what ones sees and making them no better than fleas on knees...hahaha...yeah it is hard to tell if one is doing the right thing sometimes, then it isn't usually hard to tell if one is doing the wrong things, as you just know but that doesn't stop many.
ReplyDeletei feel for him because sometimes we can try so hard yet it ends up so different than we thought it would...right may not always be right for all...
ReplyDeleteVivid and touching...felt.
ReplyDelete