The Death of a Mans Soul
In innocence borne, a slave to none, the apple of the father’s eye.
Yet my father was not there, too sullied since birth, soiled by worldly lies,
Physically mature, yet inwardly still boyish soul.
Fear? Cowardice? paralysed from standing tall?
Pray face of integrity of fatherhood, the man you should be!
Still, a ponderance you may be found,
A heart thirsting, yearning to know
You think of me still and would even now
Breathe life betwixt the crevices of this broken soul
A momentary kinship as father son
He did not know; to him an encounter, simply the norm
To me, however, a mentor, heart burst open
A tangible touch of fatherly, brotherly love,
Confused, pure, innocent, misunderstood.
Yet powerful, screaming volumes; building a doorway framing my soul.
I cried inside but dare not foretell
The tenor, most disinclined to register so.
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