To Papa

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.