A father told his son “it’s time to be centurion.”
“I know that you are frightened, but so am I,
we both need to fight, or our dreams will die.
I am not saying to you; give up your inner child,
my ardent suggestion; is to be both tame and wild,
thus, please; continue to play, but do not be caught,
have it in your mind, that at least you have fought,
fought for your right, to wear an enduring smile,
to have loved, and been loved; for a little while.”
Then his son, took upon the name of “centurion”,
the boy now donning his mind forged armour,
made by the warning; from his loving father,
now goes forth to carve out his history,
amidst the frustrations of life’s mystery,
“I shall both suffer despair, but also revel with joy,
though I am now a man, I am still a boy,
so, to mankind, the co-authors of my pain,
I say that you will not flush my hopes down the drain!”
Both remain under the same synaptic roof,
in their thoughts, unlocking their own truth,
that being “centurion” is the best way to be,
as to protect what you treasure; comes naturally,
thus, they will proudly stride, side by side,
with the hope; that their example will confide,
to those who may seem confused, thus a little gone,
but do not worry, in unison they will sing their song:
“Our friend, do not be glum, it’s time to be centurion!”