<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=400443" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Your golf playing postmaster father was your god</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your golf playing postmaster father<br>was your god<br>(and to you there was no other) <br>who couldn’t see anything wrong<br>with the actions of his friends<br>that wanted to play<br>sexual games with you<br>and his wife<br>who slept around<br>with whom ever she could.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You sat next to him <br>at the front door<br>of the old house in Barberton<br>with the red polished stairs<br>while he smoked his pipe<br>with BB-tobacco<br>and although you hated smoking<br>inhaled every vapour<br>coming from him<br>as if it would put you<br>in a godly ordained séance<br>or maybe a trance.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each thing that he said, <br>each thing that he did<br>to you was holy and right, <br>even if it lacked justice<br>and you made a mere man<br>equal to the Almighty One.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No other man could for you<br>fit in his shoes<br>and I tried to live<br>in a totally different way<br>and when he died<br>from a heart attack<br>on the golf course, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">you only saw dread, <br>for your God was dead<br>and tried to join him<br>by taking sleeping pills<br>and was really angry<br>for me rushing you to hospital<br>as if I had got in the way<br>of your atonement.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Gert+Strydom">Gert Strydom</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=400443" data-title="Your golf playing postmaster father was your god de Gert Strydom" data-description="Your golf playing postmaster father was your god (and to you there was no other) who couldn’t see anything wrong with the actions of his friends that wanted to play sexual games with you and his wife who slept around with whom ever she could. ..."></div> </div> </div>

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