Jagged Broken Window

inside what was once his home, now dusty and old.

Childhood memories of playing in the field,

inside, arguments held, pain and sadness,

after all these years, still feels cold.

The broken bottles on the floor,

still screaming out, anger shattering,

yet he forgave, so long ago,

the blackened eyes, battering.

Beaten down,

for foolish ball play,

he remembered it well,

not wanting to return home that day.

Mother too sick and too weak to protect,

for so long he blamed her,

in his heart couldn't connect.

The jagged broken window,

a sharp memory,

of pain and of sorrow,

he blamed himself, in the world,

questioned why he came to be.

He ran for help,

when his mother was out of breath,

and his drunken father, useless upon the floor,

drowning in his own sense of death.

He stares out the jagged broken window,

preparing to somehow restore, after all these years, vacant and cold.

Childhood memories of playing in the field,

inside, now he tries, to care for and comfort,

the same one who cast his pain, as he grows tired and old.

The broken bottles on the floor,

he picks up the pieces, he forgave so long ago,

plays ball with his son in the field,

filling his life with the laughters he once only wanted to know.