He stood for years, beneath the picture
Of what his father came to be
Despite success, he felt the stricture
Found amid such high degree
Every feat he conquered, mattered
But in the thought of eras past
His father’s deeds were those oft flattered –
A soul whose means were unsurpassed.

The son of an upscale person
The boy’s dreams looked big and bright
Yet, his life was sure to worsen
‘Neath his father’s gallant light
In his elder’s eyes came coldness
A blackness where no glow was viewed
Thus, the lad replaced his boldness
With a life meant to delude.

The child, once mild and humble
Soon became, a tyrant thief
And the lies he chose to mumble
Trapped his world in further grief
His father stood outside and snickered
“That poor boy was never right”
As the lights so slowly flickered
In the prison hall one night.

He stood for years, beneath the picture
Of what his father came to be
Despite success, he felt the stricture
In his son’s unlawful spree
The father knew that time had traveled
Far from where his childhood dwelled
Yet, his strength again unraveled
When his son rose and rebelled.

© 2006 – Jill Eisnaugle’s Poetry Collection