Turned around, fleeing,
I run from conflict
instead of facing it—
a coward’s path
born from a father’s shadow,
steeped in generational abuse.
A cycle vicious
as a violent thunderstorm,
striking bolts from the heavens
in divine judgment,
scorching my soul
as if branded like cattle.
A coat of arms
twisted and contorted,
misrepresenting values
held in the present,
yet fully defined
in a past no longer recognizable
to the progeny
who is tired of running
from Daddy’s failings.

No, it is time
to alter course,
to charge headlong
into the unknown abyss
where a different fear
lies in wait—
the dread of becoming
a carbon copy of his failings,
their venom lurking
like a stalking predator,
starving and salivating
at the thought
of a fresh meal
of unsuspecting me,
tripping into the pit,
unprepared to face demons
and rewrite history,
to forge a new heritage
unblemished by cowardice,
to rebuild a coat
that accurately depicts
who I have become
while freed from the bane
of paternity’s weaknesses,
that led to his son’s pain.

I stand up,
pushing back against the dark,
my light radiant
like the summer sun at noon,
casting glare
over the shadows,
causing them to flee
in a terror once my own,
no longer to darken
the soul of a good man
seeing beauty
in all things—
a revelation
that I too can shine
if given time
to heal from past wounds,
whose blood-streaked tears,
now scabbed over
and healed,
leave only a faint scar
of what was,
a reminder to live
in the present
and build anew
the love lost
between father and son.

To PERTINAX,

Too long has pain been a blanket,
Smothering your soul to flickering embers.

Your spark, caught in a continuous updraft,
Only to be lost amongst stars too far to see.

Pain, a forever companion, details the scars
That mar the beauty nature has sown within.

Darkness, forever a rain cloud, soaks a spirit
Bent and broken by fatherly expectation,

Unattainable,

By a son cursed to wonder why he feels alone,
When surrounded by love he cannot understand,

Or chooses not to,

For fear that feeling will hurt worse than the numbness,
Ever-present in the mask of hatred and jealousy,

Coveting all that he has not earned,
Wanting to be more than the sum of the parts he built,

Some of which lie shattered at his feet as tears fall,
Slowly lubricating gears that had atrophied

In a dark rigor mortis where bare fists seize,
Their constant beatings of black-and-blue memories,

Where control was subverted by passions not in line
With the values that created the monstrosity,

Inherited by a man whose lack of love stained him,
A tarnish that self-berates and self-hates the lack of love

He does not feel.

Choices that forever hold back the sway of emotion
He was never equipped to deal with,

Even when surrounded by motherly affection
That consistently put him first, even when she was last.

Shame is not a big enough word to describe the pain
Of letting down the single light in his world,

That has full faith he can shed the weight that chokes,
With a firm grip begging for release into the peace

Of death.

More scars to carry forward and harm the flesh
That traps what could have been beautiful,

Had he just bled the toxins that poisoned his mind
Against the dreams that raised him to be more.

Failure is his greatest fear.

For fatherhood has now grasped this broken man,
And the blood now flows to them by association,

Repeating the same mistakes that led him to bleed,
Expecting family to be the boon that heals all,

A purpose not his own to selfishly inflict on innocents,
Too pure for a world of pain, hate, and ugliness,

Unaware that beauty can exist in a damaged man,
And that love can heal all if shared honestly.

A two-way street that begs him to traverse it,
Opening up and allowing light and beauty to shine,

The way to loving himself,

And forgiving the corruption he allowed to rest
Within the center of his chest.

I can love myself.
I am beautiful.
I am not a waste.
I can be more.
I can get better

With time,

Then truly love those who have loved me in my absence.

—PERTINAX

Stolen by the wings of a canary,
Soaring through clouds
And weaving through hidden canopies,
Is a song known only to the sun
And certain flowers.

Trapped, the song pleads
In early morning
And in the dusk of shadows:
"Hear me sing, O lonely forest!"
Yet no one answers her call.

Frantic, the canary ruffles her feathers,
Searching for a single ear,
One soul to hear her precious
Color held captive.

Yellow stole the canary,
Its hue seducing her,
Staining her white genesis golden
Through months of dancing
With swaying southern honeysuckle,
Chasing the setting sun,
Soaking in every sweet note
Of yellow’s orchestra.

Defeated, she finds a secluded tree
Atop a barren mountain
And sings one final time:
"Hear me sing, O lonely earth,
For I have claimed your light as mine!"
She spreads her petite wings,
Each feather a ray of sunlight.
"Hear me sing, O mighty mother,
You alone have listened..."

Then, the canary weeps,
Her tears dropping notes of yellow,
As her feathers fade to pristine white,
Unblemished by envy’s hue.
At last, she finds her own song,
Whole in its quiet truth.

The pain sours as the milk spills
Rancid subjugation to the rejection
Of a cause without its mode
What positive devolves into negative
A multiplicity of being that sheds light
When consumed by dark dawn
Where clouds bring rain in a permanence
Detached from loving life in full
As the moon wanes to new
Betraying a sky desperate for a clearing
To wash free the trapped potential
Inherent within striated cumulus
Begging for a release that allows breathing
For an inner compassion held captive
And bright sun dimmed by the regret of day
Sadly passing in multitudes; a rehashing
Beyond that of moving skies crying
Tears of forbearance belonging to trees
Drowned under weeks of relentless monsoon
Desperately gasping for a mindful remedy
An explanation for a cycle that perpetually
Stops giving
•••
I breathe out pain only to receive it again

We all stumble through life
Lost on winding trails
Disconnected from the destination
Which pulls the soul
Down a path barren of beauty
Where downed trees create barriers
Roadblocks which lead to detours
Into the rugged wilderness
A trial that tests the mind with adversity
Begging the body to halt its course
To cool the crucible that has bled
Molten rivers carving ruts
Into an endless circle
Leaving us lost and out of breath
Desperate to pause and recover
The stamina wasted in a maze
Of our own creation
...
Until finally, a beam of light
Breaks through the dense canopy
Proffering warmth, peace, and solitude
Beckoning a return to the tracks
Worn by the forgotten footsteps
Of a different time
Too distant to elicit recollection
Yet somehow familiar and welcoming
For those seeking the forbidden happiness
That we have trapped within a sadness
Foreign to the natural nature
We had suppressed in order to feel free
...
Long have I sought the trail I thought lost
Turns out, all I needed to do was turn around
And remember I am not alone
Just simply facing the wrong direction

Minds claim to know that which is not.
Foundations... they are broken and they rot.
From the rubble is found a truth stronger than life;
To understand that knowing is nothing but
Standing on our understanding.
Now we 'K'now

I know the power of the rising tide
For beneath my feet rests the shifting sands of time
Always ebbing and flowing the water dost erode
Each wave tugging and pulling
The tiny grains betwixt my toes

As the surf rises my foundations wither
Casting evil eye to swollen sea my thoughts swell bitter
When my balance is interrupted by systematic crashes
Gradually displacing and replacing
My position along its axis

Until finally I am interred within that salty tomb
Buried under heavy weight of time ne’er to be exhumed
Less the tide decide to recede and expose
The monument to a man
Who had once claimed to know