“son”

my father used to tell me

“son-”

I’d cut you off right there.

speak and say,

don’t mean their way.

why bother with words,

when your hands cannot bear their weight;

on gold shoulders lean,

upon shoulders, gold heap.

when shimmering sparks,

replace the fire of the heart.

and blood runs thin,

in the family unseen.

take time to glean,

the words;

you reap. 

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