The Son of the Father

Deborah Renta 1967 (Philadelphia)



He was 11 years old. He grew up in a foster home. He had no guidance or direction. Never learned what was parental affection. He did know aggression.

He was regularly used and abused. What could he do? He started numbing his pain by smoking cocaine. He harbored much disdain for the man that was at the root of his pain. He never told any one of his shame. He was never quite the same.

He never knew kindness or love. He was befriended by a neighborhood thug. He schooled him on ghetto ways. He taught him how to handle a gun. He said, “son, you're young and one day you’ll have to point a gun.”

As he lay on the floor, which was his bed. The root of all evil walks in and insists on head. He pulls out his peace and puts him to sleep.

He’s on the loose. He figures he has nothing to lose. He’s on the run. He’s got his gun. The only one he trusts.

 He takes a hit from the pipe to give him the courage he needs. He feels only misery. He takes his piece and decides to set himself free.

He reaches heaven’s gate where the Holy Father waits. He forgives his son. Holy Father shows him love. The only man he’ll ever trust.
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Written on January 01, 2022

Submitted by LatinX on March 14, 2024

1:11 min read
120

Quick analysis:

Scheme A X A X X X X
Characters 1,147
Words 236
Stanzas 7
Stanza Lengths 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1

Deborah Renta

Hello! Im Deborah. Born and raised in Philadelphia. I started to write at the age of six. I wrote during my teenage years. I stopped writing poetry until 2 years ago. I’ve been consistent since then. more…

All Deborah Renta poems | Deborah Renta Books

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2 Comments
  • Symmetry60
    There's the poet. So, it's Deborah? Sweet. Now we have a name for the beautiful face, I say respectfully. Philly is a TOUGH town, girlfriend, but I've no fear because I see inside who you really are. You're one not to be messed with who, if treated like the woman she knows she is, would give her life for those she trusts and loves. What a great piece of writing this was, Deb. I do NOT miss the days of cocaine, speed, alcohol and being a rough boy. Oh no not I. Give me peace and sobriety or.........give.......me.......death. ;-) 
    LikeReply 112 hours ago
    • LatinX
      sounds like you know me well. You described me perfectly.
      LikeReply 112 hours ago
    • Symmetry60
      We just have to learn not to expect upon others lest we land dead center in the middle of disappointment. We also have to learn that if we cast expectations onto others, that we, as fallible humans, cannot even live up to our own expectations. We have to be as flexible for others as we allow ourselves...a lesson I am forever failing, but still learning from. 
      LikeReply 112 hours ago
    • LatinX
      you’re a wise man.
      LikeReply12 hours ago
    • Symmetry60
      Wisdom is simply a culmination of ourselves and our mistakes. Wisdom isn't about knowing. Wisdom is about doing. I'm as wise as the regrets I harbor and how I've opted to correct the course of my vessel through turbulent seas. Truth be told - every one of us is wisdom in the making. Each of us has simply progressed to whatever degree of honesty and courage we afford ourselves when we look into the mirror. We can never be more real outside ourselves than we afford ourselves inside. Be the ball. 
      LikeReply 111 hours ago
  • RonaldBunch
    Beautiful poem, very insightful to the drug life and how God can save.
    LikeReply 21 month ago
    • LatinX
      thank you so much!
      LikeReply1 month ago

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"The Son of the Father" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 19 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/183061/the-son-of-the-father>.

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