Where Was the Love?

This one is for the psychoanalysis section of the poetry corner. Some of youwould rather have doom and gloom? Then you might like this one: I look at him, a balding, wrinkled old man He looks confused and tells me he needs a plan. He asks what time is it and where is he now? He hasn’t got a clue andhe looks tome. So, where is the love? I don't know,let mesee. It wasn’t in that old house where we grew up. It wasn’t in his tone that stopped us abrupt. Where was the love when he would pull out his belt? Not in his words whenhe yelled “Damn it to hell!” What love there wasvanished withthe tears that fell. Stooped over, shuffling along; his gait is slow His pants barely fit and the back is rather low. Who are you? He queries thenasks,who am I? Where is that man now, the one who made us flee? Andwhere was the love then? Where would it be? Not when he shouted, berating each of us. It wasn’t there when he would storm, yell and cuss. Where was the love when he got mad and just hit? Gone with thehurtful words that he’d fling at me. So, where was the love? Not in that home, you see. His hair is white, he stumbles andI catch him And then he’ll head straight out the door on a whim. He’s forgotten now how he’d laughed at our fear. Any love was gone when he’d hit just for fun. There’s plenty of pity but love? No, there is none.