Father and Son

From my innate flawed self,
I'd spawn forth a luckless one,
Stuff his cradle and baby shelf,
With little teddies and fears unknown,

On lullabies that I fondly sing,
Subliminal bigotry to put to sleep,
On tender rhymes that I often bring,
Intricacies dear to forever keep,

Him and his wildest dreams in check,
Lest they wander aimlessly,
Through streets of sanity bedecked,
With gems and jewels strewn generously,

Clothe him in robes of scarlet red,
Fetter his innocent soul in place,
And on the streets, listless I tread,
I reserve for him a special place,

Fables I recite on his bedside,
Would kindle in him a raging fire,
In vain to douse the flames he'd try,
Trapped in a perpetual spinning gyre,

In his piggy bank, I'd put,
The coins my coffers abound,
Stamped on, the ships of hope that sank,
Flotsam and Jetsam lost and found,

At leisure, I would take him out,
To show the life I lived,
In nightmares he would scream and shout,
In tongues the gods forbid,

Reverence as a virtue not,
His heart would ever imbibe,
And in bliss, My tiny tot,
Would leap with pride and joy,

Behind the venetian blinds I'd stand,
Would swell my chest in pride,
Unwittingly to a hostile land,
I transport him, side by side,

And thus the nails in his coffin, I,
Would drive in ever so lovingly,
A bitter man, he shall too try,
To leave his mark unwittingly!