30 of 145

by Bruce Raynor

My son
I cannot make you,
Reach you,
Be you.
Yet you are
Of me
With me
Always

If I said that
Which offends you;
Am not what you
Wish to be,
I am sorry
And would
Change it,
For you to be with me

My father once said
He did not know what to do
To give, as I needed him to.
Now, I understand him,
But not you,
Though perhaps
I was once
As you are now, too

I wish for you:
That purpose and love
Is foremost in your life
That every part of you is whole
And in the present
Not lost in anger
Or distractions
But found in real joy.

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Poetry: My son

by Bruce Raynor

Poetry: My son

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