he died to me, some time ago, long after I was free
and I still have his chains about my neck, as you can see
he never let me know where I could hope to find the key
to break these chains that keep his hate imprisoned inside me
so freedom came and there I was all chained about my skin
try as I might, to wrest and fight, to overcome and win
I hope a day brings quiet here to [restrict]suffocate that din
his angry voice still branding me with stigma, shame and sin
his angry hand still leaves that mark where once he struck my face
his angry boot still cracks the bone where once I learnt my place
and still I feel his hateful words consume my every space
the dog-like-son to god-like-dad, him gone without a trace
but freedom comes like reveille to move the night to day
each day, my task, to chisel, etch, and scrape these bonds away
to leave a scratch on every rock to show my friends the way
that we are not alone out there, whatever “gods” may say[/restrict]
this article was published in our print quarterly number six, Poems For Freedom.
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