Just A Man

Just a Man

You may be just a man, but when you're before me
Your skin is marbled, your eyes are broken and jeweled

You may be only just a man of bones, blood, and flesh
Though your old formalities still have yet to color me fooled

And maybe your impersonal, customary ways
Have done all but quench my endless dreamers' thirst

But divine interventions that occupy my buzzing mind
Persist in forcing me to feel your heart strings' pull

Now I've grown in a day, in a strange resistant way
And I've been shown too well the way to go off course

You've been so forgiving, im deafened by these angry mirrors
At all the ways I've tried to outrun my truest source

And the half of me that's bred of aged contempt and veangeful red
Well it's always been a side I loathed and pictured marred

So I could thank you in a day, whether in a timid or emphatic way
But I know no words can define me from those of yesterday that left you scarred

My dull efforts at resolve become so pale and out of sight
Not a day passes where I don't break alongside your drunken ghost

And with years passing, forced inward by regret
I'm much more burdened by a clearer sight
Of how I aided in the murder of the man I worshipped most

I see you blue and green and pure
With only half of a glimpse of the things you've endured
And by the time you leave I'm certain that in my eyes you'll much resemble your own God's form

I need you now, but I hide in despair
I cannot fathom how to make you aware
Of a plague of locusts nearing behind you on the horizon, I fear soon we'll be swarmed.

Yes you may be just a man
And though my messages in the sand
Will wash away with each new wave of father time's tidal change

All I can say is you're a man
Who blessed me with depth, and adorned me by hand
With every treasured piece of grace and wisdom my mother's nature had failed to attain

My old regrets hang like a cloud
Whose veins of lightning hit so loud
And as you near the end of your road I'm trapped here, and mute

I doubt I'll timely make you proud
I hope at least you'll see me out
Of this familiar house of guilt and ill repute

The distance and change made by what is done
Has now reasonably left me feeling dead, forever shunned
Mourning glories grow on a barbed wire fence that's become obsolete

I'm lost for decision, to speak out, hide, or run
The flowers no longer bend toward the sun
And other flowers and summer crops grow thick around my feet.

This poem is about: 
My family


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