When growing up I pushed away my father's molding hands,
asserting I was different than he was and was my own,
yet I allowed my friends to mold me, there I had been hewn,
becoming them in function form and every fiber strand.
I disappointed him who spawned me from his very *****
and saw me henceforth as a stranger living in his home.
At last resigned to this demise he hid his hands and tone.
I had betrayed my maker for a sack of thirty coins.
Far later I'd returned to him a prodigal old son,
and hinted, showed and sang and danced his many favored tunes.
Disinterested he questioned it. No longer did he care.
These days I search my father's mind, though now it's surely gone,
and seek those ancient treasures gone by very many moons,
and wish he'd know that I am him though he's no longer there.
(C)2019, Christos Rigakos
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 10:26 PM UTC
When growing up I pushed away my father's molding hands,
asserting I was different than he was and was my own,
yet I allowed my friends to mold me, there I had been hewn,
becoming them in function form and every fiber strand.
I disappointed him who spawned me from his very *****
and saw me henceforth as a stranger living in his home.
At last resigned to this demise he hid his hands and tone.
I had betrayed my maker for a sack of thirty coins.
Far later I'd returned to him a prodigal old son,
and hinted, showed and sang and danced his many favored tunes.
Disinterested he questioned it. No longer did he care.
These days I search my father's mind, though now it's surely gone,
and seek those ancient treasures gone by very many moons,
and wish he'd know that I am him though he's no longer there.
(C)2019, Christos Rigakos
Italian/Petrarchan Sonnet with Iambic Heptameter and altered rhyme scheme.
