By Mark A. Leon

My old man; simple as the sky is blue
Proud, pure and stoic as a mule

A giant; a hero; a man I knew through and through
Never far behind, but hidden enough to let me be
Young and free
What I needed to be

Never a tear as I walked away into the night
What would be one of many flights
On my own, he prepared me to the bone
My old man

Grew up on the streets in the concrete jungle
A provider before his time
A family man in a time of broken dreams
Unbroken
A son, a protector, a soldier

From the brick steps to foreign lands, he grew a heart of stone
Witnessed a lifetime through a young man’s eyes

My old man
Quiet in the desperate air
So many stories yet to share
What is left inside of there?

Sometimes vulnerable; sometimes scared
But never for a moment a sign of weakness in that stare

Humble and feared
I heard all I needed to hear in the silence
He roared like a lion with the whisper of a lamb
A complicated man bottled, but soon the world would see
My old man

Today I live free
As free as the air
As spirited as the horse in prairie
That is the man he made me

 

Through his lessons, I learned to become who I needed to be
I fell
He picked me up
I fell again
He remained by my side
From the heart; the heart of the experience
He knew the trials we would endure, but like a prizefighter in the final round, he rose to the ovations and fought once more
In the sweat and blood, he passed on to me the courage
A slingshot of wisdom catapulting me into a world ready for anything

My old man
Still raging inside
Now humbled in the simple life, but reflective
Still, so much more to tell

My old man, never far behind