Blood of father flowed in my vein and I can see his face.
Like father.
I look in the mirror.
What do I see?
Have I become what I despised all my life?
I have my father’s eyes.
Now I know my father’s pain.
Have my eyes become cold?
Is violence and anger my strength?
Each day I learned loss.
Loss of dreams and desires.
Kindness and gentleness forgotten.
I follow my father’s path to war.
I did what he had done.
Now I talk to dead friends lost to war in a self-made hell.
Will I become like my father?
Showing passion and emotion when I'm in violence or aroused.
Can I stop my journey to adulthood?
Can I find the path to gentleness and love?
Have I traveled too far?
Is the blood too strong?
Am I destined to hurt everyone I have loved?
My father’s hatred.
Is it my anger too?
Am I free to choose my journey?If I choose my own road. Why did I follow my father sadness.
I am torn between reading this and enjoying the poetry, the boldness of your emotions, and wanting to comfort you! In the last aspect of this, I think it makes your work a success because it seems to come from your heart. I know nothing of critiquing poetry, but I like this. I read it silently and then aloud. Have you read it aloud to yourself, even in the mirror? It's good.
As for your dad-- the good and the bad helped him be the person he was. My dad and I had our issues. When he died, I took the good and buried the bad. OK, some of the bad stuck with me which is why I can be an ornery person ;) Learn from him-- this is how those who are gone, either dead or simply not present, can still teach us, and we can shape their legacy.
Poignant write sometimes we become the very thing we despise. Do what we know follow in the footsteps of our fathers shoes . The urge to break free evident in your words a poet rather then a soldier , good start.
A Poet and writer who love to read and write.
My pleasure is reading about the bad and good in a life.
Also to honor the Poets/Writers of the past by reading their words.
Remember .. more..