Echoes

My Son,

power of fists, can sink hearts,

times of heat, will leave you cold,

hands of stone, turn flowers to dust,

aching jaws, fill hearts with rust.

Forefather,

when you speak,

your echo sends patience and grace,

detached from ego, open to embrace,

as iron spills red, in tempests of rage,

in chains, your anger lays.

Father,

is a man weak, when kindness is shown,

I see the sun does not rush to set,

so shall I not rush to speak?

I see where the horses gallop,

birds find solace, in the gentle blue breeze,

Father, where will she wait for me?

My son, with a walk and a smile,

you'll meet her in unexpected times,

your heart will race, when you meet her eyes,

the way the morning sun warms the day,

she will warm your heart, give her what you want,

and she'll always be yours.

The road less traveled awaits your feet,

truth shall guide you to the mountain,

within everything, we will forever wait,

where the sun kisses rivers that sing,

where winds whisper secrets, on the wings,

of feathered kin.

Father, there are no words,

yet I hear you speak,

I am the first blush of dawn, blind in the suns shadow,

you're dusk's first sight, you are the echo,

a melody caught by the breeze, yearning to tell.

you are the oceans, as I stand at its edge.

My Son, as a heart opens, move towards it,

the love you want, you must give,

the less you think of you, the more

you will turn skies of others blue.