Memoirs sat upon a dusting shelf
The writer’s now moved on and this is his legacy
Draws me in, against my instinct
I take down this dusting book and so begin to read...

Born into regret of a mother
and father taught him lessons that began with fist
This slip of a kid could walk
egg shells and slept with one eye
open thinking Jesus missed

These never ending days can drain the life away
But come his hour he will be dancing
on the coals of despise
And growing pains eased as father weakened

The abuse became now verbal
and the hurt was raw
He ran at fifteen
alone with rucksack
sat in doorways watching life pass
thinking “what’s this for?”

And into his life she came creeping
gave him feelings never felt before and held him tight
They grew with their love
now isolation’s dead

He’s conquered all his hate and this he had to write
‘These never ending days can drain my life away
but come my hour I will be dancing
on the coals of despise.’

He wrote and carried close these feelings on a note
“Now life’s for living and I’m looking to the future”
he cries.