I understand why my father became the man he was.
He walked in on his wife in bed with another man.
That is why I understand,
My father became that kind of man.

He was angry, violent and beat me with a razor strap.
You remember the kind?
They would use them to sharpen their razors.
 I sure remember mine.

He never lost his rage.
It was his first wife’s fault.
My father became that kind of man.
In forgiveness I have left it all behind.

My father tried to be kind.
But sometimes lost his mind,
I forgive him for those beatings,
I would see it in his face,
He was in another time and place.

I listened to his story as his lips professed his grief.
His eyes held oceans of pain and sadness.
The present held no release.
I knew he wanted to let it go,
Thought he really did.
But through the horror and pain in his eyes,
He was still a little kid.

I am a little rusty in writing poetry. I hope to start writing more again. I went to a Memorial for a distant relative. I was listening to a guy talking about his father. This poem stemmed from that conversation. I will probably write more about it later.