Eggs? Am I your Easter Sunday? Your Christmas, or a second birthday? When I say, 'No.' Is it your fountain of youth that says so?
We have bled. So the son is sacrificed By knife and crucified. So only the father and the phantom Are left behind Like ashes of the Sun.
Dad, I know you sacrificed for my future And learnt from your past The scripture of your mind And you fought until the last man In your army of one.
Yet, Do not decapitate To put your head On my shoulders of clay. I will make your mistakes. I will break your mountain stones. I will ache the way you ached. Then when your gone Maybe I'll obey your bones. But I will not suffer to surrender To your commands.
Instead, I will leave a mirror in my room. So that afternoons from these days I will be replaced By the son you wished to see and say "Okay." Whisper soundlessly the phrase, The words You want to have heard.
"The Lord said to me, “You are my Son; today I have begotten you. 8 Ask of me, and I will make the nations your heritage, and the ends of the earth your possession. 9 You shall break[b] them with a rod of iron and dash them in pieces like a potter's vessel.”
10 Now therefore, O kings, be wise; be warned, O rulers of the earth. 11 Serve the Lord with fear, and rejoice with trembling. 12 Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and you perish in the way, for his wrath is quickly kindled." Psalm 2