stumblingtoholiness

I told my son

I was told

I was too smart to do

What I wanted to.

I had to do 

What I was told.

Poetry?  How quaint.

No, you don’t need to paint.

You were made for more.

How could you settle?

Science, math,

You’re on a different path.  

And now

My poetry is bad

My art is worse

I curse

The day

I listened.

So take my lessons boy

And fly.

Along

The path

That is

Uniquely yours.  

The course, that God

Has set before you.

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