A Son's Concern Poem by EZEKIEL MAU

A letter to my burdened pro- creators ÷

With almost half my life gone
With all those lies I burn
I sit on an elergic dome
Wishing to go through my childhood door.
If power were of me to again roll the fair die
That I this time may observe to have a fair outcome
But the door I sit gazing has been replaced with concrete walls
I thus can't help me but hate you more
The cause of your negligence to what mattered most
Your thought: the paper with dead faces was alone to fare me good
But I needed more than that your answers to what plagued me moon
A teacher for my craving heights
A living guide to my adventurous sights
A minder to soothe my failing heart
A bright lamp to light my soul's. nights
Now I am hunted by what I let the mystery friend decide me
How your physiognomy caught pale at your disappointment
But that's your yoke to unburden
I just pray the good lord I yet know not fare thy systolic well
O! ! And lest I forget:
I hear the fairer sex from whence I precede
Is yet fruitful and unblessed by thee sterner
I pray thee the seed thy attention still
That thou wit wither so to make it upright as un-me
And thy soul may alas rest pon grateful feel.

Once yours
The child you'll never gain