Disclaimer: I do not own the copyrights to the Bible.

Warning: This poem deals with the issue of emotional abuse of a child at the hands of his father. The abuse is implied as something that happened in the past.

Dreams of a Shadow

Darkness is falling,

An impenetrable veil

Descending upon gray skies,

Rain ever pouring as needles

Upon the expanse of black pavement

Over which a shadow of a man glides,

Disdain in every graceful step,

Sneering contempt in his whispering voice,

"That's right, little rabbit,

Run, run as far as you can,

Like the coward that you are,

Pretend that all is okay."

. . .

He is reflected in muddy puddles

Through my tearstained gaze

Into the depths of my muddled mind,

A bitter ghost of haunting past,

The echoes of a father

That I no longer wanted

Yet still desperately desired,

My dreams turned nightmare;

He is the specter

That now comes to torment

On these abandoned gray steps

Under this ominous sky.

. . .

I tear my gaze from his cold visage

Only to be met with the cold stones

Of a desolate gray fortress

That may have been a home

Once upon a time;

Beyond the tattered brown curtains,

An empty gray hallway gives way

To a faded yellow door

Trapped by rusted copper hinges;

Reality ever reflecting fantasy,

A sagging roof as the shelter

For a spirit falling in despair.

. . .

I look outward once again,

My father's image washed away

By misty waterfalls in gloomy darkness

Yet his velvety voice still echoes,

"Little rabbit, little rabbit,

You could never learn to stand,

Only ever flinching away

From life and its challenges,

You are no child of mine, little rabbit,"

Poisonous words even now cloaked in silk,

Narrowed eyes ablaze with amber malice,

Straightened poise fitting for a gentleman,

This I can clearly recall of times past.

. . .

But I am free, am I not?

Free of him,

No longer that fearful child,

But now an adult,

Ready to start my own life

And make my own decisions;

After all, even sitting on these steps,

Having not yet found a place to rest

In this stormy night,

This was my choice;

Though I have nothing,

I also have nothing of his.

. . .

So then, why,

Why does his image haunt?

Why do his words linger?

Is the past all I can ever know?

They say that it is a cycle,

A vicious cycle from father to child

And child to grandchild,

And on and on it goes;

"Sticks and stones might break my bones,

But words will never hurt me,"

Yeah, right; words pierce through bones,

Their venom destroying from the inside out.

. . .

Here in this stagnant present I sit,

Unwanted kid now an adult

In front of an unwanted home,

Both covered in dusty vestiges

Clinging as a stubborn memory;

Unexpected company for a deserted house,

Refugee protected by ancient sanctuary,

Lost human and a lonely home,

We are mirrors for each other,

Broken shadows passing by

In this moment of silence

Beneath the piercing rain.

. . .

And in this moment of silence

I let my mind free to drift,

Long forgotten dreams of childhood

That I might have become a warrior of words,

A student of life, a bearer of the mighty pen,

Borne of that childlike wonder

At a strange and awe-inspiring world;

I dare to fancy myself that child just once more

And wonder that the sky's freely flowing tears

Should unite such unlikely companions,

Lost human and a lonely home,

Perhaps for an unexpected purpose.

. . .

Together, two empty hearts beating as one,

That from such companionship

New life might spring,

Healing thought to be impossible

Occurring before a disbelieving world's eyes,

Nonsensical dreams of childhood long gone,

But maybe, just maybe,

Such fantasy might be reflected in reality,

In stories of a man who dared to choose death

For that disbelieving world

And then dared to rise again in life.

. . .

Such stories as those linger even now,

Proclaimed as truth by those sidewalk teachers

Who dared to stand amidst life's challenges,

They who would lovingly declare,

"Jesus died because He loved you,

He knew you were too weak to stand on your own,

Weighed down by sin and doubt,

So he took that weight off your back

When He died on that terrible cross,

And He returned to life

Just so He could lift you up for time eternal,

If only you would take His hand."

. . .

In such words I dare to dream anew

Of a shadow of a man

(Only a shadow,

For what value could I ever hold

That even He might come in person?)

Gliding across an expanse of black pavement

Gentleness in every graceful step,

Tender love in His whispering voice,

"Come to me, my precious child,

For I yearn to give you new life,

That I may teach you how to stand

And live by my perfect strength."

. . .

Within misty waterfalls in gloomy darkness

Tears from a heartbroken sky,

I gaze upon his warm visage,

Eyes ablaze with resolute compassion,

Strong shoulders bent to bear the world's weight,

Scarred hands silently reaching out,

And I dare to respond with shaking hands

That He ever so gently holds

As He pulls me into a firm embrace,

Only then, through blurred vision,

I realize that He has come in person,

Fantasy turned reality in His arms.

Author's Note: Here, finally, is redemption in its entirety. Thank you for taking the time to read this poetry collection. Constructive criticism and comments are welcome, so please review!