Letters Written In Fetters - 4

Dearest son, This was the time I held your hand And then let you go again and again from a standing position Hoping you would understand and trust me still Because sometimes I did not catch you fast enough But helped you, so you knew to get up whenever you fell Yeah, fathers miss things you will not remember When you climb the beanstalk to steal the golden goose. I apologise because I miss the unannounced end. Truth is son, Until plantation owners reinvented fatherhood again And made us believe we were surrogates Of countries we call mother England And after my ancestors melted until they were black Making money for a leisure class of maniacs Fishing was something a boy discovered by himself Like dolls house, and that sudden look in a girl's eyes And you would have been greater than Columbus to yourself Discovering how to make a top or shoot a marble So that you only needed when the thunder rolled A giant was close to climbing down that beanstalk in your dreams It was then I had to leave For golden goose don't drop from giant skies And the source of true economy Is not the competence at strategy But the dwindling reservoir of environment After we were fenced out of the common property. Our hearts were shackled together We wore fetters, chains and prisons like skin And I was not permitted to be sold Transported, deported, excommunicated without you For you are not supposed to see the father until you see the sun Father and son are one only for the sinister of the conspiracy But they feared you more than they feared me If the minotaur did not kill you, then you were to hate me