The Ominous Clay Poem by Dennis Go

The ominous clay
Folds its texture
Slowly, down, down.

No disturbance made
By the wind and heavy rain.

Down in pain he goes, crying
Like the woman conceiving
His child whom he battered
Days ago without the guild
Of conscience preventing
Such evil a manner of beating.

It was John, his six-year old
Son who halted his anger
With so chill a voice:

'Daddy, someday I'll kill you'.

Guilt simmers no more
But the rut of old age,
Bearing the knife as promised
By a child so full of rage
And anticipation to free
His father from inhibitions.