Ode To the Deprived

The sun tugs young hours, Wrings the day. Flowers spring, Pupils play, Waitlessness on one youngling. Longing eyes cashed the calendar, But father’s clock ticks. Abysmal seconds cool son’s glare Oak floor boards catch salty drips. Minutes and months and now.- Minutes- and minutes- and minutes- Young blood flow still warm’s sign Th’at least… young years are yet to give. Naïve nowadays deprived of First father’s lessons never lived. Don’t you see! What is a man? -Somehow boy did pursue, Though, t’will never return those lessons, Thrill’s seeking soul spurs no such blessings; Mirages o’ dreams: a slew. Upon composure: supple closure, Baker’s dozen years gone over. One son’s frozen dreams adjourned, By mother’s smother, slack heli-hover, Manhood grasped, not graven: learned.