Fighting Irish Thomas

Yes, my youngest son Patrick (in a dated photo, playing the saxophone) turns 19 on the 19th this year. Down at the “U of I,” I'm sure he'll be in great spirits among good friends tonite, for like the Saint, Patrick was always good at making (and keeping) friends, through is kindness and humor. The following is a poem I wrote about him some five years ago, when he was a mere lad of 14.

Two Sons

Patrick
You once complained
Life was pathetic
Both punished
By our poverty
And untrusted
Thru parental lack
Of understanding
Treated young
And Growing old
At the same time

Brilliance
Was your given
But Wisdom
Was your goal
Though you didn't know it
Because those voices
Blocked out the Beauty
As you traded Truth
for comedic comebacks
And then bowed
To the wrong crowd

But one-day
As Capitalism's Clown
And Illness's Insight-er
(Your dad and mom)
Fatefully looked on

You looked up
Saw His Cross
Realized your role
Took up your Bible
And became a Man
Like Him

Labels: Family, Poetry