11/23/2023
"The Tale of My Dad and the Bottle"
In the twilight's embrace, a heart sincere,
a loving soul, where kidness perseveres.
Through the midst of trials, he charts his course,
a caring touch, a balm, a soothing force.
In their judgment's glare, a useless drunkard they see,
To me, a man with a heart, genuine and free.
No pretense veils his love, no mask to wear,
He’s real, with kidness, genuine and rare.
In each clinking glass, his fears submerge,
a self-made solace for the pain to purge.
Living beside him, witnessing his strife,
a battle fought within, the essence of life.
Deceptive care in the guise of a toast,
offering drinks, a darkened path to boast.
drowning him slowly, in a toxic sea,
wasted away, a cruel festivity.
Mockery veiled as joy, A heartless cheer,
in twisted facade, his pain unclear.
In moments of calm, a plea from his heart,
"Don't tread my path, choose a brighter start."
for his children's future, a fervent plea,
to escape the shadows, live life free.
His mantra echoes, "live by faith, and not by sight."
The Bible, your guide through day and night.
His aunt reveals, he tended to his mother's ill days,
Caring for his dad in those delusional days.
Rare is the son who undertakes such deeds,
it's there you witness his love, care, and needs.
For in the currency of care, money plays no part,
A reminder that genuine love is an invaluable art.
In every wobbly walk, a lesson learned,
His true love, a flame that won't be overturned.
Through trials edured, he might sway,
his genuine heart, will never decay.
With every sip, a tale unfolds,
of a man with vices, a virtue untold.
In flames and virtues, an intricate blend,
a father's journey, from start to end.
A toast to the man with the pure heart's art,
for in his flaws, a masterpiece starts.
In love and care, his legacy spun,
A drunkard's tale, a father, a son.
-anakngtinuklay-
