no longer the son

still i rise with
the morning mist
sparrows serenade as
dew dissipates
 
Wake up boy! Can’t be late again
 
is a seeds fate
always to be the tree?
he’s just like me.
 
Wake up son.  Live don’t just exist
 
i sprung from a redwood
rich with regal blood
yet my veins dripped
with venom vile as
toxicodendron radicans
 
Can’t solve problems with a fist!
 
surely he can rise
if i fell 
will he dream of 
running up falling rain?
and see torment as
fortuitous?
 
Can’t solve problems with a fist!
 
or will his inequities 
blot out the sun?