In the mirror reflecting my mind’s eye stands the ghost of my father. A trapped raven in a cage beating its feathers against the bars around our wild soul. So much straining against the reins to keep the horses from rearing up and racing away. We were not painted with a craftsman’s hand but the flailing brush strokes of passion, torture and abandon. This blood simmers on the edge of boil. My life’s effort to contain these embers. For the hope of peace, love and family… my life’s effort to correct our bond lost.