The Athiest Prayed

For as deeply as I hated my father, I never lost sight of how fiercely I loved him. He could be the wittiest, most intelligent and charming gentleman one could ever wish to spend the hours with. He had an old school style of manners and conversation that has sadly become a lost art in this increasingly snarky, bitter and indifferent society. This world of ours was not his and he would be shattered at what we are, insensitive empty urns, I pray we are not becoming. For all of his faults, prejudices and transgressions, for all of his hatred and racism, for his insults and abuse, I could never bear to see him watching the world today and know that underneath his strained veneer, all of his heart would be forever broken. The wounds he spent his life trying to hide, trying to justify, trying to drown in vodka would be ripped open with no hope of regeneration and closure. For this reason, I am grateful, both for he and I, that he is dead. For as far apart as we grew as souls, as poisoned as we became as father and son, he was and will always be my first hero. Where he is now, he will never fall off his horse, lose grip of his sword and his armor will shine forever free of chinks.

The Atheist Prayed

The night my father prayed

please keep my son

out of the military

he wept

on the edge of his bed

please the atheist prayed

keep my son

out of the army

please to thin air

he prayed

keep my son

from the torture

from the

I have become.

Whosoever desires his company

in acts of genocide

should be damned

he prayed

from the trench

he left fifty years hence

but never left behind

until the day he died.

The mud

ensnared his feet

the gangrene

upon him crept

the pox

infiltrated

the savior

he dismissed

All alone he prayed

from within

his blanket of alcohol

for those who tread

the path of the warrior

in place of blind cowards

who rattle sabers

then run away

who pledge allegiance

then desert

who love the war

and discard the warriors

be damned he prayed

Under his wings

is where it ends

What we have constructed

is where it begins

We create our own destiny

When our children

walk away from our headstones

will they recall

what we created

and destroyed

why?

for who?

and what

we have left behind.

Good night, Dad

your war is done.

Sweet peace

in your dreams.

Until next time and always

All my love,

Max