The Bedrail Of A Father Hurts The Son
A heartbreaking situation, for the left out son
The Bedrail Of A Father Hurts The Son
He lies there, king unseated,
fading under dim-lit care,
the empire he once guarded
divided, stripped, laid bare
I stand beside the bedrail
not out of love or grief
but to watch him drift and wonder
how silence forged a thief
The younger son got riches
the lands, the house, the gold
I got the name, the burden
and stories never told
He’d nod and call it duty
he’d say I was the strong,
but strength without affection
just teaches you what’s wrong
He lies there still, not speaking
as if the past might pass
as if I don’t remember
each hollowed-out “perhaps”
That rail between us gleaming
a final cold divide
the line he never crossed for me
no matter how I tried
I do not seek forgiveness
I do not hold his hand
I simply stand and witness
what he will never understand
Let younger sons go counting
the spoils they never earned,
this watch is not for honour
but every scar I learned
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (2)
This cut deep in the quietest way. So much said in what was never given. Beautifully raw.
Good job and that is a hard thing to learn and accept.