Wounded Father

When his heart is full he will not rage 
When his pockets are heavy he will not steal
When the wind whips he pulls his coat tighter
Reminding him of his blessings

When his truth is to rage like wild wolves
His need to steal is embedded like love
His children; a reminder his time is up
He can no longer be their provider

He tries to sleep like his first born son
Who is only a ghost of his past life before
The wind keeps whipping he pulls tighter his coat
With only one day left in his pocket

His eyes gloss over when the day is gone
The bourbon as heavy as sins undone
In church he finds his son's name on a drawer
As he kneels before his maker

He asks for forgiveness should someone hear
For a wounded father unable to heal

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