Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
As a rubber ball the child’s heart is bounced from concrete walls while courtroom antics are played out for spite by all. Finger pointing, lying, loud voices and between times an ice cream cone for a boy. A boy or perhaps a toy waits with this one or another, while robes and books decide on a father or a mother. Perhaps a Saturday father will be born, for rules are rules and stated clear, they read that a mother’s love is best. Pay no mind to children’s love or reality. Pacing floors and clouded eyes, stare at yellowed prints adorning walls of aged wood and words. Father speaks in turn of days gone by, promises love and speaks of a son not a boy. “Times may change” a voice whispers to the trembling man, “the past may not endure”. A miracle today they all say, as the majestic rooms hold mumblings by the score. Hand in tiny hand they move on out, to streets of hard cement, where dreams are waiting to be built. No Saturday father today, perhaps another time.
0
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC
Saturday Father
As a rubber ball the child’s heart is bounced from concrete walls while courtroom antics are played out for spite by all. Finger pointing, lying, loud voices and between times an ice cream cone for a boy. A boy or perhaps a toy waits with this one or another, while robes and books decide on a father or a mother. Perhaps a Saturday father will be born, for rules are rules and stated clear, they read that a mother’s love is best. Pay no mind to children’s love or reality. Pacing floors and clouded eyes, stare at yellowed prints adorning walls of aged wood and words. Father speaks in turn of days gone by, promises love and speaks of a son not a boy. “Times may change” a voice whispers to the trembling man, “the past may not endure”. A miracle today they all say, as the majestic rooms hold mumblings by the score. Hand in tiny hand they move on out, to streets of hard cement, where dreams are waiting to be built. No Saturday father today, perhaps another time.
Copyright Protected....Wayne H. Colegate- From Reflections On Gravestones and Satin Sheets
wayne-h-colegate
Written by
77/M/Canadian
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem