A Life In Parables Part 2 Poem by Resten Swondo

Never a kind word, never any praise or a dram
Of encouragement.
Each breath was a curse, a blasphemy.
No person found praise in your tongue
And none you loved did right.
Though there was no hunger,
There was famine,
Though there was no thirst
Parchment cracked apart the soul
For want of water, a dropp of
Acknowledgement without bile in it,
Nails were driven into hands,
Gnashing teeth chipped
To the quick, and no sound of pain
Emerged from wrists cut,
Flesh torn, soul destroyed.
No drink stills bitter emptiness,
No love stills desire
No kisses bought faith
No lover brought respite
Or a healthy fear of death.
Whatever storm clouds were on
That dark horizon turned to
Water a tree of solitude
Grown sturdy in its self-loathing.
Pleasures now denied assume
Moral propriety but are torments
Inflicted out of self-disgust
In the recognition of self
In the despised other.
You made me the monster,
The beast I am.
And generational curses
Could not be purchased
With an act of immolation.
I will reap where I did not sow.