Foolish child, demanding emotion,
Leaking out symbols, like these.
Clasping the blots like some rebel band,
Unified by your own infantile aspirations,
Air drenched in self-indulgence.
Is it what they trapped or else?
Golden gifts given generously,
They receive broiled blacken blood.
Foolish child, my foolish child,
What did you expect?
For them to decode your hints?
For them to give solid attempts?
I suppose I am to blame,
I gave you life and a name.
I stitch you together a purpose,
Which could not be claimed,
What a sad fact.
Still, I held the same,
with much less pain.
Oh my dear child,
Why do I even give you life?
Knowing full well what’s to come,
The failings of an incompetent father,
His inability to enlighten your conventions.
Lastly, before you awaken let it be known.
That I hold no hope for you,
And I dream, for my own.

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