He has washed away his soul with wine
taking the bread from his sons mouth
malnourished to the wolves under moonshine
dressed in poverty to a mother with ill health
the wilderness swallows him up and spits out with hatred
to circle a cycle that should be outdated
under the sun the son seeks to fill the empty space
that has plagued him since boyish memories
cool heart that pumps heated blood similar to a fireplace
feeding a rotten dish of fear and worries
enslaved to a past that has engulfed with lack
the cloudy grey broken sky, my father has cracked...
Angelo Velasquez
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/broken-sky-3/
