Buried Pain

Buried Pain

I was seven when my mother walked away,

A moment I will never forget to this day.

I went to visit her at work, yet she was gone.

Nowhere to be found, I asked myself was it my fault?

Back home we discovered she left us with bills,

Piled so high the stacks resembled rolling hills.

I had never seen my father cry until that moment or ever again,

His despair haunts my memory; no forgiveness I decided right then.

How could she leave us I asked myself;

Wasn’t our family perfect, like our photos on our shelves?

My father raised me through his blood, sweat, and tears,

He has been my hero through all of these years.

I would not be the strong person I am today,

Without my father guiding me every step of the way.

As I sit here and type I feel the tears well up inside;

I’ve tried my hardest to keep these memories locked up tight.

To this day I struggle with the scars left in my mind,

From when my mother left, and my stoic father cried.