Son Poem by Adeosun Olamide

What there is, is not a desire for you,
but a desire for equilibrium.

most things are done for the love of normalcy,
to have done the expected, attained it.

you just happen to be the object,
the desire is more, the perception attained.

no love for you than that my son.
but I love to have a son,
and I love to not have lost a son.

just like a love for the voices, not for the words,
and a desire for the ambles,
a desire for waiting
and not a desire for you, but those.

what there is, is not a desire for you,
but a desire for equilibrium.

and when it seemed I helped you live, it was the trouble your existence afforded me that I helped live

most think, a mixture along the way,
but as often with most; unclear, determined,
they become lost in the burden,
submerged in the sweat of nurturing an alternative,
hoping for a continuation of the self,
or for a delight in the outcome of their godness,
a senseless desire;
in one often made by the every encountering

You are not mine and I am not yours
and it is not your death that bothers me, it is the stress of the burial.