He
Is a semi-
Honest
Man

His eyes
Squint when
He smiles
When he laughs
When he
Cries

Fortune has
Not been kind
To Him for
Fortune can
Only be kind to
So many

Balance was
Never His
Strong-suit

A dead artist
He pleaded with
The Muses but
Received nothing

His charcoal pencil has
Dulled, his imagination waned

But his energy for
Life still holds true

The signs show
In the bashfulness of his
Generosity and anger

Disappointment has a
Color and
It is red

There are a million
Things I could write
About my father

But
The line is still loose

I will wait
Till it gets tighter