“You’ll burn in Hell if you don’t repent” I ‘ve heard it since I was two. It still echoes in My head each time I do something for Myself. I can see him, Tall and thin with Black hair combed Back over a thin spot. His speech was pure country, his mannerisms broad, He could cry on demand And get lost in a song. He would point and shout, Shrink inside him self And then explode with The fury of the righteous Sweat would pour from his brow As he worked himself and the seated Into a frenzy of emotional torment Then release it… And them… With a tearful reminder “You’ll burn in Hell if you don’t repent” as he held out his hands. As a family we were there Because appearance counts But it was only appearance I knew For we prayed at home for deliverance From Dad… Ron T
Reason for writing:
This is the third of three poems about how I saw my father.
The First, Dad, and the second, Puppet master, can be found on this sight.
Birth sign: Not entered
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