The apple and the tree

I've been busy writing trying to amass a good portfolio of poems, short stories, and screenplays. But here is something I just randomly dug up. A very special poem I wrote in 2013, rough around the edges but still something I enjoy reading now.


The apple and the tree 

I grew up fearing you,
Still to this day your voice haunts me.
Your tall stature, and big brut hands.
The gray slivers in your black hair.
The cuts on your knuckles and burns on your elbows,
All made you seem rough.

I remember how you'd sleep in the car
After working the graveyard shift,
While I learned the classics
Shaping me to be the man i am today.
Or when you'd draw on the scrap papers in the car
Holding on to the embers of your youth

I was 14 and you were 54
On our drive back from god knows where
Mom and Yelena asleep in the back
You told me you loved me
Told me to never end up like you.
But some things are doomed to happen

We don't see the same things in life.
But art is beautiful to me because of you.
Because of you I know what it means to feel,
To feel something, anything,
But mostly to feel passion.
The world is colorful thanks to your brush.

We scream at each other,
I have your temper.
And your looks,
I have your troubling self-doubt.
Just like you I care for things, Helpless small things.
With the same crippling selflessness that stunts you.

I am my father's son.
We are more alike then I'd like to admit.
I punch, curse, and scream like my father.
I was afraid of being like you when I was young.
But now it's different.
I'm proud to be my father's son.
Im glad the apple fell close to the tree

-3 May 2013