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
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 2:09 PM UTC
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