02-26-2017, 04:39 AM
After Donald told me that no poem deserves to be thrown out until someone reads it, it inspired me to at least share a little of what I have going on. I am a very new writer to poetry, and I have loved it for a long time, just never had the courage to post it. Now given that I am not a courageous person, please do not hold back with the critique. I am making my willful decision to post this, so I want everything you have. I would love to work on this and perfect it, along with the craft itself. (I apologize for this secondary introduction. I will be quiet now.)
The son has no father.
The father has no son,
For the son has no Father.
Son is the prodigal,
Father is the awaiting.
The Father keeps his score,
16 points for the profligate father.
Vanquished the son,
With the Father.
Three blind mice,
In the heavens.
The Father, The Son,
The Spirit. In darkness,
They lead the father.
Holding the silhouette hand
of promise.
To the door of decisions,
The father takes no pause.
The son has no father,
The father has no son.
For father has his Father,
And the son has his newborne.
The son has no father.
The father has no son,
For the son has no Father.
Son is the prodigal,
Father is the awaiting.
The Father keeps his score,
16 points for the profligate father.
Vanquished the son,
With the Father.
Three blind mice,
In the heavens.
The Father, The Son,
The Spirit. In darkness,
They lead the father.
Holding the silhouette hand
of promise.
To the door of decisions,
The father takes no pause.
The son has no father,
The father has no son.
For father has his Father,
And the son has his newborne.
~I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson