Sits there,
standing with battle wounds,
none may see,
many may.

I don't know,
what to say,
I just feel,
feel what's in my heart.

People look onward,
never looking back,
not even the slightest,
smallest glance.

Painted white,
the outer layer,
so fragile,
so careless.

Red stains their eyes,
a hole in their chest,
beaten lips,
broken soul.

Do I revive,
leave or stay,
what choice do I have,
take mercy or crush?

Once was brown,
a light hearted man,
took pity on those he met,
cried so many nights.

He tried to stay,
he hated to leave,
sickness tore at him,
from every angle.

No escape,
no relief,
yet he lived,
he tried.

His bloodshot eyes,
that ***** uneven cut,
the money he made,
the hearts he shattered.

Rage took out love,
love died in a single room,
I watched,
I listened.

His story goes untold,
his view goes unnoticed,
not one word he said,
no, it didn't matter.

I saw him stand tall,
the scars on his chest,
fresh from the knives,
the words many said.

They told of giving up,
giving up life,
his family,
his job.

He was a king to the "bad",
a peasant to the "good",
and all the while,
he was my father.