The Padre And The Pattern

The Padre and the Pattern

Unfair
I suppose
To call him unmitigated
Or suggest
That he is without cause
The truth exists
That a cause exists
And oft times
I drive him to that end

But the depths
To which he dwells
Are beyond the span
Of necessity

There is a drip here
That remains consistent
And bears down
And wears down
And digs so deep it burns within my blood

To be sure
My view is clouded
By the rage I feel
By the volume of my hate

And the weight of the pain
I have been left to bear it
Alone
Because no one acknowledged
The fact that it was there

But this impression that I have
The weight of his hands around my throat
Cannot be pure imagination

For others there were
There are
Boundaries
A gate and a fence
To caution them
To make them aware of the edge
But for me remains the sensation
Of simple oppressive suffocation
As though I never had the room to roam

And so like Sisyphus
I persist in the inane
I persist in the useless reiteration of actions that will never be completed
And so like Icarus
I seek heights beyond my means
I seek depths beyond my true character

And so like every American child
I crave a reaction that will never come
I crave an emotion that will never be shared
I crave an understanding that will never be reached
I strive for a night where I can think of it without the pain
And where I can share a room without the paranoia of the stern, solid rebuke
I pray for a world where I can break away from my model
A world where I will not become my model

And I realize
Now
At this moment
Why I would rather be alone
Than risk this wretched repetition
Why I would shove all and every away
Because I am so disgusted by their capabilities
And my own dark possibilities