Reflections of a Broken Mirror
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Crafting this poem was a journey, a battle against the ghosts of my past that spanned over a year of writing. As a survivor of child abuse, inflicted by my alcoholic father, I bear scars that are etched deep into my soul. They are old wounds that occasionally bleed fresh tears, especially when I encounter a movie or documentary about child abuse.
In 1988, my father succumbed to lung cancer. I harbored a hope, a silent prayer, that he would seek forgiveness, or at least offer an explanation for the torment he caused. But that moment of redemption never came.
Yet, from the ashes of my past, I discovered an extraordinary resilience within myself. Embracing Christianity, I found a wellspring of love and hope that transformed me. Today, as a father and a grandfather, I am a testament to the power of faith and the human spirit’s ability to heal and grow. I am also a Mental Health / Trauma Counselor helping others free themselves of the past. The Haiku at the end of the poem is a distilled essence of this journey, a testament to survival and transformation.
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In shadows deep, where childhood fears reside,
A father's wrath, a son's tormented life,
A torrent of abuse, a soul's despair,
A question lingers, heavy in the putrid air.
"Why was I not enough, my father's pride,
Why did your love, like fragile glass, subside?"
I searched within, for flaws and faults unseen,
A defective ugly child, unworthy of your esteem.
The echo of your wrath, like a thunderous roar,
Your fists, the lightning's strike, leaving me bloodied and torn,
A distorted reflection in the broken mirror of your rage,
A son's plea echoing in the void, seeking peace in a Biblical sage.
Each glancing blow, a cruel reminder of a love that took flight,
A question murmured in the still of the night, a son's plea echoing silently,
The stars, like a voiceless jury, bore witness to my endless fragility,
Their sparkling diamonds reflected the blackened tears that blurred my tranquility.
Against the wall, against the floor, I fell,
In a proverbial coffin of terror, a living hell.
Personified despair, my desperate plea,
But love remained elusive, never free or for me.
How could I have been different, I pondered with sickening despair,
Would a change in my essence have lightened the burden you bear?
Your hands, never a source of comfort, became instruments of fear,
Their touch, a chilling reminder of a love that disappeared.
In Dante’s theater of death, a tragic play,
Each act unfolds in shades of disarray.
Anaphora echoes through the years,
"Why, Father, did I provoke your ravaged fears?"
In the end, it was the silence that echoed the loudest,
Your life, extinguished by a disease most foul and foulest.
Yet, in the quiet of your passing, no answers were bestowed,
Only the lingering question, a heavy, burdensome load.
Up from past’s charred remains, resilience took flight, like a phoenix reborn,
A new father to three daughters, under God's watchful eyes.
From your dark shadows, I emerged, stronger and wiser,
A testament to resilience, a survivor, a Christian riser.
In the end, I found the answer, not in your silence, but in their laughter,
In the love I offer and receive, now and ever, and ever after.
For I am not the echo of your blind rage, but the product of my Godly choice,
In their smiles, I find my truth, my answer, in their love, I found my voice.
As another teardrop falls, a trauma survivor finds calmness just for today, hereafter.
Shadows deep, fears hide,
Broken mirror reflects pride
Love’s absence, pain guides.
Copyright © Daniel Henry Rodgers | Year Posted 2024
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