THE GOOD FATHER

THE GOOD FATHER

the thinking man

acrylic paint on canvas by Robert Margetts

I’ve heard stories from those who knew him best

They spoke of him as the silent hero

A man of stature

A man of inner strength and pride                                       

With love and tenderness he did rear me

A single parent widowed by painful fate

A drunk driver played the grim reaper

And stole a soul before its time.

Yet, not a word did he mention of his loss

Not an open bed did he take for comfort

Nor the hands of pity did he accept

Though thrown into his new responsibilities

He took to them as if it were fate.

And complaints, I had none

He frolicked in my youth

And shared in my pain

He taught me in a world of hate

That in darkness there is strength

That goodness hides behind fear

And to understand this emotion,

One must see the child in the most evil

And befriend his pain.

All this time, not a tear did he drop

Not the breath of remorse reached my ears

I could not and did not see his pain

For he showed none.

If his eyes were two way mirrors,

They reflected nothing but content

And pain was but a brick wall on the other side

With no means of escape or relief.

And then one night he took his life.

With a click of the trigger a silent hero

Kissed the wings of immortality forever.

And, for the first time I realized

That is wall of pain was the only

Legacy passed onto me.

And, as fate would have it,

I built it twice as high for my wife and kid.