The Good Father

Door Knobs clog, puttering with-

Explanation- by making stories

Sadness- with clever quips

Corduroy jacks can’t life the spare

A circle of valor sleeps

As all things mount

Some visit the well

Some transform in else

Many tears will fall

This you cannot defend-

But from sorrow or Joy-

That’s a game for playing

Jagged symbols clash in sync

Burdening the world you try to bring

Hems of meanings strewn

Seeds sown often listen to others

Sometimes it’s better to be a friend

But mainly you should be a father

The claustrophobia of sentinels

The silent echoes in the night

The worried welts we build inside

All worth the price of a smiling face

A good father will provide

At all costs, thinking only as to how

In a land condemned by greed

In a land alive with infamy

A good father will protect his own

A good father will protect his home.

Blowtorch: An Expression of Paternal Love

There are moments-

In where you will feel the urge-

Through transition, a superimposed image of yourself forms- distorted truths and exaggerated roles-

Burn the foliage you once called home.  Burning it all, flames so tall, the surrounding world’s sent away,

Sparks awaken the inferno, lost are the embers floating through the trees, the ones in front, behind,

Sheltering the face from the haze, a moment is drained of a past- no longer,

As incendiary thoughts conspire, lingering in the aftermath of the blaze,

Manipulated is the mind, rearranged through the beauty of a slate washed clean,

Stutter stepping amongst the pajama-clad, hooves cloaked by slipper and boot

A desire for improvement, a constant strain is placed upon the nature,

Bred from gossip columns, matured through evening news,

Aloft she sits upon a perch, above, out of sight, in reach of God,

Impressive are the claims, the realistic footprints its’ actions recreate-

The awe, glorious palpitations only metrics away,

A shoulders’ length from the tipping place, hand-crafted affirmations cast anew,

A mystery unsolved, a revelation perched within the clouds,

Mirrors cracking from the personal glare, 

A creator inspired through a son’s necessity to fly, for him alone, Daedalus you became,

Identity and structure seemed the same,

Yet it was a crude imitator, igniting the outcome to change,

In replacing the sun with the moon, a child, with wings intact,

Rose above inferno, avoided wildfire and soared beyond the fanned flame.