Each day, towards eternal sleep I dream…of my forefathers who dared to run the gambit, I see
loneliness and pain among the echoes– oh dear lord, help me remain virginal among the ruins of
self…
My own father died of cancer on June 3’rd 2006.
Spiritual being, founder of all, guide me toward a beautiful direction.
He took me to ball games, taught me how to fight.
Amazing Being, help me appreciate my existence among your loyal disciples… help me find a
place at your right hand when the time of my death arises.
Pop was an 82’nd Airborne Ranger, 325 Division, also an athletic and boxing trainer. I saw him
throw one of the most brutal punches in my life when I was six years old…a guy came at him
with a knife during a Thanksgiving Day football game, as I screamed “Daddy”—he turned and
crushed the guy’s jaw. It turned out the man he hit was the Chief of Police’s son.
Lord, sometimes I think you’re selfish; you test us in so many perverted ways just to show our
loyalty.
Pop had a mean temper. He worked hard to support five kids. Occasionally, he would hit
us…harder than he wanted to. He felt remorse but could never express it verbally.
Are you a God…are you a fable…what is your real name?
One time he got so mad at me, he smacked me with a belt—cutting my hand. When I was asleep,
he quietly came up the stairs to check if I was OK. He looked at my hand, and then ran out of
the room crying. I was awake the whole time…he just never knew it.
To follow you, pray for your acceptance…never doubt your existence. Hoping it leads me to the
eternal reward after my final breath.
I still have a difficult time visiting his grave. Does that make me Judas?
Allah, my emotions conflict between love and hate for you.
My mother’s house is filled of old pictures of him.
Buddha, are you there?
Pop can you hear me?
Am I good?
I am/was your son.
–Dan Provost