He did not so much abandon me, as himself.
His rage blew out of places that had never known life.
So quickly he turned from 'Daddy' into Father,
the cold and distant, angry 'god the Father'—
One evening at the theater, he turned to me,
Muttering, 'You're a dreamer! ', spitting out contempt.
Yes, a dreamer—with no solid ground to stand on,
nothing to make a world from, but dreams.
The world comes out of Mother and extends to Father.
That's all the child knows of solid ground.
If it's
not
solid, he falls in an abyss.
From there, it's true, his only hope's in dreams;
and thus is born a madman or an artist.