Lost Poems

Pray

I am on my knees,

balanced on bent toes,

kept strong by stubbornness.

I am not praying.

This is punishment

or so he says.

Forsaken by his father,

he built his purgatory

modeled after a sanctuary.

He believes I will be safe in it.

That is not the case.

He orders me to face him

He demands his answer to

"Tell me what you did wrong."

I stare with disdain and

with pity.

We do not confess to what we had done.

We did nothing wrong.

I continue to kneel.

He lies in bed waiting for the answer.

I wait for him to understand.

Tears run down our faces.

Noone says anything.

I am on my knees

but I am not praying.