I created a river of my blood so you could swim safely over jagged rocks of his crooked love

But it was never enough; you could never hold your head above

You flooded the dams I paved with a dismissal of my own dreams, only to let the booze drown you and your sense of love in insistent streams

I lost many hours of sleep, but lost no time writing countless rhymes

I led you through a maze of philosophical epiphanies to conclude he was a tyrant, but to you my words were just my rant

Because I’m just the son, and in our micro-political system I’m just one

I’m twenty and I’m being shown a door, but it’s surrounded by gates and filled with a personal holy light, and I’d hate to leave you, but even then I can see it’s right

But I know I’m the back you stand on, and it’ll be free falling once I’m gone

I contemplate the future of my younger sister with no one to proudly call mother, and where will she find support from a brother?

And without any checking and balancing to keep cynicism from poisoning the youth, what will become the new definition of truth?

So, am I destined to walk with unsteady feet?

Never to fully cross either line, neither to win nor be beat?

Destiny isn’t written by anybody other than luck, the big men in office, and a father, but daddy’s pen hasn’t done a thing but driven me farther.