Parallel Lies

My own, I know

Clear in the blood it’s shown

My son, my fear

Hope the bond on him is not overthrown.

My hand on his brow

A merrier stroke on mine’s hair

My care not a single coin low

After all although adopted he is like my own heir.

A frown on my heart

A cross finger in my fray

The war in my soul

Makes both my dear sons to stay.

Now just four years old each

But my second my own, will tend to fall into a fortnight’s darkness

I hold the fir like palms close to my soul

Hope the vague minds drown in a foggy mark.