Sorrowful Love

Years later and the grass is the still the same color yellow.

The white paint is peeling more on the right side.

Over there is the garage where I used to hide.

My eyes clinch as I hear the echoes of him yelling.

His residual footsteps stomping.

When he was going to barrel through my room, there was no telling.

Shivering on a hot day as I touch the front door.

I squeeze and open the door to see the mudroom floor.

Broken picture frames show broken memories from long before.

I see the kitchen where he would drink his endless whiskey.

His glass he would sip on before he came after me.

I'd make him so angry, I don't know why.

He'd scream and yell until I cry.

My room to my left, I can't even look.

Everything I had, he took.

I turn to the right and walk down the hallway.

I walk into the den and I see a withered old man.

He's aged with the house and the broken memories.

His walker next to him, as he sits in his chair.

I kneel down in front of him and touch his gray hair.

He hugs me closer every time I'm here.

My forgiveness is what he fears.

But my forgiveness is what he hears.

And with that, I wipe away his sorrowful tears.