Son Rise
I am not my father
My arms are clumsy in his coat sleeves
His sword is heavy and unbalanced
His mask prevents my breath
His blindness does not give me foresight
My road is covered in fresh tar
His accidents are not my destiny
I am not his walking stick
I do not sit at his right hand
His god cannot redeem me
I cannot drive the monsters from his closet
I do not own the road map
With all the rest areas marked
When I mow the lawn, the rectangles lose degrees
And become abstract
The stars perform a different dance for me
The moon laughs at other jokes
We do not live in the same places
I am not my father
I am his son
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