The Hymn of Him

Doors slammed and objects thrown

I remain in my closet, frightful and alone

There are silences and then blasphemies spoken

And there I tear, huddled and broken

Where are those claimed manners?

That you so taught me to follow

What must I do to seek receive an appropriate answer

My mother, poor mother, doesn’t deserve to be so hollow

But there you are, raging the world

With your selfish desires and motives unfurled

Oh where could I have been if it were not for you?

Perhaps true guidance and counsel or some sort of clue

So my path towards success would not be obstructed

By such brutality and rigor yet talents so gifted

With bravery, confidence and intelligence galore

Yet such qualities overshadowed by brutality forever more

Much is to be changed in our world of affliction

Yet for me I simply desire a father of conviction