He wore a red jumper, a warning to me
I feared his slapping hand when I was a kid
unhappy with himself, would lash out at the world
I was always in the way of his harsh physical word
Frustrated by his endeavour, control was not his thing
he'd lose it washing cars or when the lawn mower pinged
anger inside his soul, meant there was no peace
sadness in his eyes, my pity brought out the beast
He was very clever, and on good days we had fun
always treading eggshells of the terror that would come
weary and alone I planned to escape his wrath
as soon as I was able I would walk a prettier path
Abusive life continued and I feared my own shadow
violence dominated my life, no loving I'd been shown
the day I left the home was the day I had revenge
peace descending on my life, no longer had to fend
Anger left behind for others to now deal
no more trembling at the table at every meal
looking back I learned to love instead of hate
but for my father, it is all too late
He died with no regrets, he proudly said
thinking only of himself and his selfish head
giving wasn't something he was ever taught
unfortunately his son, in violence is now caught