James Mclain Poet Lyric

My Daughter Uses My Love for Her to Hurt Me

My Daughter wields my Tenderness
As Swords are sometimes drawn —
Not forged of Steel — but Memory —
And all I once leaned on.

She knows the Weight of every Pulse
That ever beat for Her —
She presses where the Silence lives
And makes the Wound recur.

I built her House of Gentle Days
With Windows facing Trust —
She learned which Pane would shatter first
And struck it — as she must.

Affection is a brittle Thing
When handled by the Wise —
But Cruel — when the Beloved learns
Its Secret — and applies.

She says my Name — as Children do —
But not to call me Near —
She speaks it like a Talisman
To summon Absence — Fear.

I gave her Bread — she breaks it slow —
And feeds it to my Doubt —
I gave her Truth — she mirrors it
Until it flickers out.

No Enemy could study me
With such Devoted Art —
She knows the Geography
Of every room — especially my Heart.

Yet still — the Love refuses Rest —
It will not pack — nor flee —
It stands — like God — at open Doors
And waits — unarmed — for Me.

If Pain be Proof of Parentage
Then I am Verified —
For only Blood — can find the Nerve
Where Hope — has never died.

I do not curse her — Heaven knows —
Nor wish her Love withdrawn —
I only ask — when she wounds me —
She knows — whose Breath she's on.

For even Thorns — when planted deep —
In Gardens once my own —
Remind me — Roots — though trampled still —
Persist — in growing Home.

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