Fault |
| by Lloyd Klumpp |
Pitied man.
I held you once
In such a high regard
And waited on a fathers pride,
A single guiding word.
But drunken fits
And angry shouts
Filled places meant for warmth,
Slowly killing all respect
And turning love to loathe.
A child cannot understand
The power of the brew,
The undeserved striking hand,
The emptiness in you.
Passing time dulls the ache
And clears the eye to see.
The problems that you had back then
Belonged to you
Not me.
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(c) 1999 Lloyd Klumpp Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.
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