Poetry

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I remember my father looking at me
The failure in his face
He did not want me to see
The memory of his visage, so drawn and sullen
His voice weak and cracking
Life, all but sunken
He glared through my eyes to attempt to see
What the future would bring and how I would be
Did he say the right words at times when it mattered?
Would I remember these things,
Or walk through life battered?
Did he place enough inside me
That I could cultivate the fruit
That he would never see
Now that he is gone
Memories do fade
Images, not in the light of mind
But hiding in the shade
Can I walk through this life
Without guidance from another?
Do I have enough instilled in me
To be greater than my father?
A mate has been given
To replace what was stolen
Someone made for me
A beauty has been chosen
The knowledge has been shared
Closed eyes have been opened
The cross has been taken
The struggle has begun
To live a life with God
The Father with his son

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