A son I gripped for discipline
Has now broken-a-lose from what he thought were chain
I have no more words that he'd love to hear
My ways and schemes were just too hard to bear.
Not so long ago he was a child
But tender age wasn't a reason that I'd be mild
Ahead is a wicked road that he would roam
It will be too enticing that he'd mistook it for home.
Oh how I wish to have him always by my side
But I can't own his time and impose myself to be his guide
I need to keep my statutes so loud and so clear
I need to mold him as to whatever it takes for he is so dear.
He can see me by now as a tyrant that boasts
Yet I'll be his hero when I am a ghost
Then the harshness of me that was wrongly perceived
Are lovely memories as he visits my grave....
Date & Time of Writing:
November 11, 2009
2:10pm - 2:42pm
Written in memory of Jesus L. Nadela, my disciplinarian father.