The Quest

The search for parental love and/or surviving as the progeny of an alcoholic.
I search this house, seeking both high and low.
Peeking here, peering there, bottom and top…
My movements have become a little slow.

Wonder if I’ll ever be able to stop?
Can I find what I am hunting for?
Will I search until I collapse and drop?

Should a person always want a bit more?
Should we keep searching without surcease?
Should we treat life like a department store?

Hard have I searched for a time of peace,
Some quiet, serenity, peace of mind.
If I cannot own it, is there a lease?

No peace, no peace, none have I ever found.
You are disruptive; you are a loud old sot.
For us there seems to be no middle ground.

I have chased the carrots but never got…
The love and approval that you withheld,
I imagine it’s time that I forgot.
After all, you know they say, "Blood will tell."
   By Donnell Carlisle
Published: 4/16/2004
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