Love: the Tyrant

Reads: 208  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Even in death my father forces me to love him...the afterlife changes everything, re-arranges even traumatic memories...until I can no longer hate him...and even love his soul though he never revealed any of it in life
(I hate long explanations)

Submitted: June 10, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 10, 2007

A A A

A A A



Love: the Tyrant


Damn it!  Haven't the servants
Been wounded to the liking
Of your Germanic savants?
You slaughtered even Vikings -

Wounds to be then likened
To your legs and arms lost.
Odd, you slaughtered Vikings
So you could at the banquet boast

Of their legs and arms and loss.
Turns out, I turned the guests against you.
The banquet wouldn't suit your boasts,
Even as you looked to slay me, too.

Turning, turning, I guessed against you.
Makes one wonder why a son bothers
Looking to you to slay us - an even two.
I have to be drunk in beds of fathers.

Makes a son wonder why one bothers -
From our germ of manic savant -
To be half-sunk in sheets of father.
To dam it, I've not the servants.


By R P Webster

June 10, 2007


© Copyright 2018 shabbycurragh. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: