Proud Father

My child weathers storms with awe
He grasps beauty as a newfound friend
And treats it with the same caution

My child bears burdens with a smile
Hands calloused from a worker’s toil
He runs and laughs within his dreams

My child climbs through ashes
Leaves footprints as a golden god
Across his sands of sweaty labor

My child holds the mark of slaves
Deep trenches through his back
That stagger, gracefully entwined

My child knows a cold numbness
From overwhelming sense of loss
He knows not my face or name

My child longs for mother’s hand
For father’s whispered blessings
But stands strong against the doubt

My child cries a brutal breath
I only watch and offer strength
Until he passes and we meet