My once stepfather, a racist,
was as verbally abusive
as he was a sick, mean sadist
who'd smack my face with his massive,
black, thick and heavy hands for spite
for minor things that weren't my fault
that I bemoaned that I was white
and he was black. So in revolt
against his emotional abuse
and harsh beatings, I then refused
to irk him so he'd make a truce
with me so I wouldn't be accused
of his murder for being beaten.
Then mom and he got a divorce
'cause his abuse was so brazen;
I rejoiced and felt no remorse.
Happier without him and free,
I was then the man of the house
and my life was far less stormy
as mom never took a new spouse.
Life continued until one year
I gave my life to Christ one day
as a trained youth. I was sincere
and with God's blessing walked away
from years of angry resentment
and severe depression with deep
mood swings that increased my torment
with prolonged nights of fleeting sleep.
Days ago, I heard that he got lung
cancer. I could not forgive him
for the abuse when I was young--
for the trauma that made life grim.
Because I know God's forgiveness
my faith compels me to forgive
him: we all sin and we all transgress.
He has but a year left to live.
But when it's time I plan to be
there and let him know all's forgiven;
it's not too late for him to see
that God's grace can show him heaven.