Son III

Son, I’ve loved women, but never myself—

You can’t blame their hearts for what they never felt.

Your arms will be dagger’d, your sleeves will be thin,

but always protect what lies under your skin.

 

Son, I’ve tried glory, the grandeur of fame;

I’ve held onto nothing and held on in vain.

I’ve watched my life pass as though riding a train

and looking through windows at all that remains.

 

Son, you are old now, as old as I was;

I can’t stop you growing, but I can teach you love.

Just promise you won’t do the things that I’ve done;

just don’t fight the battles that I never won.

2014/'15

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2018

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada