Of fathers and sons
On those rare occasions,
When the father sits across
an abyss born of ages,
of things left unsaid.
And the son looks at the floor
charting futures again.
Only to be told...
...yet again, that he is wrong.
I wonder
again,
If the two would ever meet
agree, talk, look at each other's eyes.
Understand, laugh.
Not cry, men don't cry!
And the mother,
wonders.
Would it change
at the birth of the next
Generation.
25 April 2005
(inspired by that 30 minute one to one with the gentle giant)
When the father sits across
an abyss born of ages,
of things left unsaid.
And the son looks at the floor
charting futures again.
Only to be told...
...yet again, that he is wrong.
I wonder
again,
If the two would ever meet
agree, talk, look at each other's eyes.
Understand, laugh.
Not cry, men don't cry!
And the mother,
wonders.
Would it change
at the birth of the next
Generation.
25 April 2005
(inspired by that 30 minute one to one with the gentle giant)
Labels: poetry
Selected by Anonymous |
19:07 |
2 Comments:
wholly enjoyable... and yes, even nostalgic. ;-)
How true this rings - I've oft wondered abt this abyss of non-communication that divides so many fathers and sons...
Though I must say, it already changed quite a bit, over the generations...
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