Well I am writing this drunk, <br />had too many beers <br />on the eve of my birthday <br />with, it seems, little to cheer. <br />With my wife and her father <br />we're signing a song <br />and the evening as usual <br />has gone, gone all wrong. <br /> <br />She is so tearful <br />and I'm taking offence. <br />The father that raised her <br />and made her all that she is; <br />is that her defence? <br />And when will she see <br />her tears make no difference <br />the past is the past <br />and he never can mend <br />the pain and the guilt <br />the lost childhood and teens <br />can anyone ever put back the time <br />and regain what was lost <br />through follies of crime. <br /> <br />No this is a verse <br />that never can rhyme <br />because the past is the past <br />and her emotions are prime. <br />So what should I do? <br />Continue writing this story <br />of lost times and glories <br />No, I will not become another <br />that simply succumbs <br />Spirit in Its glory <br />Is here all the same <br />whatever the players <br />whatever the game. <br /> <br />Nothing prepared <br />for the wrath that ensued <br />when the alcohol <br />burnt through the very short fuse <br />but spirit it came in the depths of the night <br />and brought a vision <br />too beautiful for sight. <br />The walls that surround us <br />were made of pure love <br />and everything around me <br />was sent from above <br />and without any features <br />your face it was seen <br />as if it had always <br />been watching the scene.<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/going-back-2-2/
