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No title. This poem is what you make of it.
Contributed by
Brownm28
on
Friday, 9th April 2010 @ 02:06:30 AM in AEST
Topic:
FamilyPoems
|
Choices I dwell with,
scars on my soul burn from you,
brain imperfections.
But who are you to judge me
for becoming my own man.
Son, I was never
there to judge, only to guide.
Mental perfections.
My soul blessed with love for you,
proud of the man you’ve become.
Copyright ©
Brownm28
... [
2010-04-09 02:06:30]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: No title. This poem is what you make of it.
(User Rating: 1 )
by iodinelove on
Friday, 9th April 2010 @ 02:25:48 AM AEST
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I like it. I'd give you more, but i was never good with critique.
Always, Abraham |
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Re: No title. This poem is what you make of it.
(User Rating: 1 )
by lesoleilnoire on
Friday, 9th April 2010 @ 07:17:57 AM AEST
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a Message)
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I like this. When I read it, it made me think about the relationship I have with my son. He has trouble seeing why I am strict with him. It sounds as if the son in this poem is questioning or blaming his father for something. It also shows how much love the father has for this son. Great poem because it made me think. I could definitely relate to this.
Heidi |
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