Through the Eyes of My Son
I looked into the eyes of my son and saw emptiness.
An emptiness that his life held no meaning…
I looked into the eyes of my son and saw hurt.
Hurt that his father refused him until he was grown.
I looked into the eyes of my son and saw hunger.
A young man eager to find his own way and strengths.
I looked into the eyes of my son and saw anger.
Anger that the men during my lifetime soaked me dry like a sponge.
I looked into the eyes of my son and saw confusion.
Confusion that his mother, beautiful and giving could allow it.
I looked into the eyes of my son and saw regret.
Regret that he was responsible for some very costly mistakes.
I looked into the eyes of my son and saw rebellion.
Rebellion that made him smoke, drink, steal and worse.
I looked into the eyes of my son and returned love.
Love to envelop his hurt and shower away his pain.
I looked into the eyes of my son without judgment.
Judgment would only hinder and he needed guidance.
I looked into the eyes of my son with prayer.
Praying that he’d see into my soul and find peace…
My son then looked into my eyes and finally saw me…
…and laid down the gun.
Copyright © Karen Bryson-Lewis | Year Posted 2006
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