Father and Sons

WarriorNote: I recently watched a movie titled “Warrior” and to me it was superb. A dramatic tale of family tensions laid out on the canvas of a fighting tournament. So, if you haven’t watch the movie and not a fan of those people who write stuff about it, you probably don’t wanna read this post. But it’s not that I gave the story away (ok, just part of it that is). This is a poem inspired by a scene from the film and how I interpreted and reflected on it. The poem does not depict the whole movie but reflects on “in between moment,” or “the already and not yet.” 

they were at it
blow by blow
as knuckles bruised
steady bloodclot burst
brothers in the centre ring
and winner takes it all

Dad, he was a broken man
befriended by the drink
downing gallons of alcohol
we’d fear his haunting call

a broken chair
and touseld hair
dad was in a fit of rage
this time it was the final straw
as mom and both of us
decide to flee

but i was pulled in tensioned love
for family and a lovely dove
i chose to go another way
my heart was swept away

they were at it blow by blow
as knuckles bruised
steady bloodclots burst
brothers in the centre ring
and winner takes it all

me and mom now all alone
no dad and brother tagged along
we tried to seek in darkness hope
but mom soon caughed out blood

i prayed to jesus
a miracle
that somehow he would mend the wrongs
my chorus was a played up song
and now my mom was dead

i soon inhaled the darkened brew
for joy breathed rest in peace
vowing not to ever turn

to those who did not look back

they were at it blow by blow
as knuckles bruised
steady bloodclots burst
brothers in the centre ring
and winner takes it all

I am a broken man who stole away
innocense from those i cared
inside i drove my sanity out
and tore those close
apart

i seek forgiveness from my sons
my love she is all but gone
regret is buried deep in me
for i’m already changed

how hard it is to utter three
words those hurt receive
their wounds have borne the fruit of scars
my trust they read
deceive

and now as i see
before my eyes my boys
there in the ring
though some this is mere entertainment
in this i saw my sin

they were at it blow by blow
as knuckles bruised
steady bloodclots burst
my sons there in the centre ring
i saw in them

the past in me.

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