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MY FATHER’S GRAVE
My father’s grave is my alibi
As I beat myself up and down how far must I fall?
I need some breathing space , but I’m suffocated in the dirt of how I
And there I found your heart pounding, but it was too late
and my cry let me die in the hard soil of hate
the most sorrow sound of how sad a person can be
that pinned me under where no man asunder should ever be.
And in his grave I finally gave license to his beatings and realized
it’s the only time he touched me.
I’m a prisoner of some stupid gossip and I have to dig my way
out beyond the babel and where would I go anyway
I’ll never be free………….
Let’s pound the earth till nothing can grow yet look back
to find just one seedling that says I love you …………….
and in its wake I return the favor with the beauty of my heart’s
desire of how lucky am I to die at once and to come back
and finally say God Brother stop digging I plan to stay awhile
the hell with what they say…………………………………………………
WHERE DO I BELONG?
Half the joy is not begging for something or selling yourself
it’s earning it and that can warm the seat of success
where a napkin on a table for two toasts who we are.
I’m so lonely and an empty glass across the table with its hollow echo
with lipstick stains that eat the night away and who am I anyway
but a bill washing dishes.
Where the lipstick remains and that’s all I bring home to stain my pillow
and that is where it dies.
Daniel William Concharty is a Los Angeles-based poet and longstanding contributor to Painted Brain News.