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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required These are the things i remember the most, My dad kept moving from coast to coast. For a minute i thought he was running from me, in the end i knew it was his destiny. The woman he married, oh how brutal it was, the fear and the damage and oh god the drugs. They say he was the toughest man in this town, did they mean every time he knocked his wife down? I remember the time he shoved a gun in her mouth, shaved off her hair off, told her not to pout. He had a maniacial laugh and possessed fists of rage, his moods swung so far, he was difficult to gauge. Though i 've never seen him get knocked down, he was quick with his anger to throw her on the ground. I recall him saying he'd not want to grow old, well he sure got his wish on that night oh so cold. On that night he did die, when his wish did come true, her empty gun by her side, spilled his blood through and through. She had a need to make my dad bleed, now that he's gone there'll be no promises to keep. She told of the hurt and the pain and of sorrow, what she neglected to tell was of the gun she had borrowed. We'll never truely know what really happened that night, but i can attest to you, it was the fight of all fights. He in a pickup, and she on a horse, it came to an end when he crashed into a house. The authorities took a long look at my dad, and determined by looks alone he was bad . Shaved head and muscles were not their first clue, they were afraid of his canvas, his many tattoo's. What they did'nt know is she was given the gun, by a man she'd soon marry, now their both on the run. If they had all the facts they'd have looked at her twice, and seen her agenda was clearly not nice. This is murder i tell you, though how do i prove it? She put those bullets in him like there was nothing to it. The man who provided the gun on that night? Well he walked away with the prize from that fight. And the one thing that dad sacrificed was his life, from the gun and the bullets that came from his wife. I've grieved his loss every day thirty years now, if i was going to feel better, well would'nt i somehow? (In no way do i condone the abuse my father inflicted upon my step mother nor do condone cheating or murder. I was young (18) and unfortunately looked up to my dad through rose colored glasses. Another of my crosses to bear in life.)
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