The Sins of My Father

The sins of my father rest
Upon my shoulders, sinking my chest.
Like a yoke with two buckets
Straining sinew in my knees.

The buckets are full to the brim
Five gallons each, contents grim.
The lids are on, I dare not open them.
To do so would force me to face what is within.

I carry this yoke ignorantly by choice
Perhaps to avoid having to voice
My true feelings, hunkered inside
My chest, now failing, falling towards feet.

My back is tired, it creaks and cramps
I should have left the lids over those lamps
If I had, I would not have seen the buckets
I would not have seen the yoke, I would not carry it.

I question why I am the one who lifts,
Why I am the one whose foot shifts.
Is it love? Is it hate? Is it a way to be civil?
Am I just being complacent? Compliant?

I have to believe it is love.
We all have those things which shove
Us to our feet- demand payment.
I choose to help lift, to carry these burdens


I want to know what you, the reader, thinks. Consider leaving a comment and I will reply!

42 thoughts on “The Sins of My Father

  1. “We all have those things which shove
    Us to our feet, demand payment.”

    ☝🏽☝🏽☝🏽
    I think I’ll fall asleep tonight thinking about this part.
    #sigh

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I think we’re doing this in hope that each generation learns new lessons and completes a new circle. With each generation, we understand more about life and about ourselves. Love your perspective though, choosing to do so, and also out of love, sounds beautiful.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Beautiful, honest and very deep.
    Thank you for sharing.
    Also I think that if how long can one go on carrying them, the burdens I mean, a breaking point will eventually come when one will have to choose if it’s really worth it to lose yourself while holding on something already lost.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. I must admit, I had to Google who Kafka was. I’ll take this as a compliment, thank you. I like the idea of this seeming nightmarish, so long as there is a light to be found in the nightmare.

      Like

  4. I enjoyed your poem, your descriptive style and your ability to paint imagery so vividly, but I personally don’t feel I carry the sins of my parents..if anything I hope that what I carry inside of them is what has helped me to have a light step in my journey. up to know..no lids if anything, I wish I had known them better.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Hi there! Not sure if you did look at my blog or whether your profile does an auto click thing to fish for visits–but if so it worked this time–I appreciate this poem. I have a sci-fi/surrealist short story (haven’t tried to publish yet) called “Sins of the Father.” It’s always fun to find another poet.
    And I’ve found that the buckets get lighter as you grow less and less afraid to examine the contents, less afraid of the ups and downs of that process. Less afraid to really live, to get out there and play and fall down and scrape your knees and get back up again.
    You release their contents through grief that feels good to finally express. Bit by bit. Until one day, you’ll be twirling that “yoke” like a baton and filling your freed up buckets with all the good stuff. πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

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