Memoirs sat upon a dusting shelf The writer’s now moved on and this is his legacy Draws me in, against my instinct I take down this dusting book and so begin to read...
Born into regret of a mother and father taught him lessons that began with fist This slip of a kid could walk egg shells and slept with one eye open thinking Jesus missed
These never ending days can drain the life away But come his hour he will be dancing on the coals of despise And growing pains eased as father weakened
The abuse became now verbal and the hurt was raw He ran at fifteen alone with rucksack sat in doorways watching life pass thinking “what’s this for?”
And into his life she came creeping gave him feelings never felt before and held him tight They grew with their love now isolation’s dead
He’s conquered all his hate and this he had to write ‘These never ending days can drain my life away but come my hour I will be dancing on the coals of despise.’
He wrote and carried close these feelings on a note “Now life’s for living and I’m looking to the future” he cries.