The father

A question of why births in the mind,

Alongside with mirth when days are unkind.

Anger,a friend or foe, you don’t really know.

In overtness, it exacerbates seething fires.

In covertness, it strengthens a corrupt desire.

A desire to break, to not be afraid.

A desire to retaliate, to not ameliorate.

A desire to destroy, to not comply.

In my eyes with waning flames, the emergence of this corrupt desire is not to be blamed.

For he is unreasonable with his thoughts, unamicable with his words.

For his presence is why I am sometimes afraid, constrained.

For his unpredictability makes me powerless, his authority sees me useless.

My body has grown, so has my thoughts on its own.

You don’t change your ways, just like how May doesn't change its days.

But still I silently persist, because an optimist doesn’t resist, when they see hope in his father.

The hope to grow for his son, for his family, for himself.