Follow in his footsteps, but your feet are too small from the disfiguration of falling as a son.
Although you didn’t fall as a son – you fell as a man the day you realised you were damned by this everlasting feeling of not being wanted by that man.
There must have been a time where you craved his presence, now you won’t even accept his presents.
You tried to combat his inflicted war and consistently wonder why you want to soar as the father he never was.
Left with trust issues and rejection, you don’t think love can serve as an intervention.
You are one of many fallen sons, feeling as though you are the one to prove the phrase ‘sons are their fathers’ wrong; you won’t stop until you’ve won.
A king taught to reign by a jester, I confess to loving you for the knowledge you have, that you are a better father than your father – before you have lived in the shoes of a father.
I’d rather show you all your qualities than pick out all that you missed – please know you can’t walk in his footsteps because his path only leads to damnation, whereas you are to be loved by nations.
A fallen son lucky enough to be raised by his mum, you are the cub to her tiger love – and even though her stripes are scars, she will never label you as a fragment of that mans heart, because he gave her darkness and you gave her stars.
You may be a fallen son, but fallen sons stand higher than their fathers.