Shackles

If the voice in Heaven did speak His would be the last true voice To speak and command me to be well I was born with a broken heart That formed an invisible shackle Not fixed by the servant of Heaven Necessitating a flight to the unknown Offering a life of hardship Eager and dutiful daughter Halo firmly in place Daddy's dark eyes, and silent smiles, His large hands so gentle, As he drew the brush, Through my hair, soothingly Qualities that link by link Chained me in silver shackles Aged fourteen and now a teen, His booming voice reverberating through the trees, Brought forth a deep trembling, That now feeds the fixation, For shoes, with clasps like shackles, And designer shoes at that, Not quite a woman, at eighteen, No longer so dutiful to Daddy, Homeless and isolated, despairing, Demanding a sacrifice and a maturity, His love replaced, by marriage, Sensuality, motherhood and a grownup love, I switched alleigances, and shackles, That brought the slave girl to the fore. Years passed, faded in time, Twenty-one, Twenty-two and Twenty-eight DEATH, Death and Death again, As each child was buried, In tears and grief, Scarred my broken heart forever, As the shackles of iron grew heavier, Upon my soul. Time passed and Daddy aged, Life had exacted a harsh price, The broken heart now His, Bearing witness to Heavens gate, Then His call to come home, Instantly obeyed, casting off the shackles, So much for tears and tearing apart, Traded off to become once more His angel. Once again willingly by His side, Life turned topsy turvy, As Daddy became the small lost child, The stars in the sky that night, So beautiful, create another shackle, Forever, etched on the soul, Like the sound of the water on the moorings, As He passed from this world. Thirty four brought more tears, Some of immense joy, A marriage, a son, finally *gasp* But alas, iron clad shackles formed As more death, more agony, Forced a inner retreat, Forty was a good year, Another son was born for me, Golden child, golden shackles. Today another tragedy, Dear G*d I miss Him, And the sons that all lay with Him now, Beside the second set of deaths, Of lost baby grandsons, Enslaving me to this place, Keeping me dutiful, constant, obedient, Strong If the voice in Heaven did speak His would be the last true voice, That formed an invisible shackle, Silver light shackles sometimes, Iron heavy other times, A willing slave in shackles. [psmith]