Friday, June 14, 2013

Convenient Genetics

He had honor, was commanding, oozed charisma from his pores
he had ethics in his working life, perfection is his chores
he spoke kindly of the ill advised, and softly to a child
and he never took advantage of the ladies he'd beguiled

But his tongue was sharp as butcher's knives, his anger quick to bear
He was patient; more than any man, 'till pushed beyond repair
He could speak such cruelty and contempt, at times I'd cower in shame
This same man could ease my darkest fears, or set my soul aflame

I would love to think I captured his benevolence and heart
and I'd proudly wear his banner if our rage stood worlds apart
but the truth is not a fan of mine; she often makes it plain
that what traits I've gleaned from father cause less love, and far more pain

God, I wish I'd been more like him in his logic and his might
I could do without defensiveness, his triggers pulled in spite
I so wanted to be like him, all his greatness, not his scorn
but like all good sons I stole his worst...and left his best to mourn.

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