I know not of cheerful smiles
Nor of laughter bouncing off walls
Nor the patter of tiny feet on tiles
Or the melodious voice of my child's calls.
I always thought I raised him right.
I got him all the things he liked;
Read him stories and tucked him into bed at night;
We even laughed whenever we hiked.
He had a temper, quick to blow.
Control it, he never did know.
One day, he just had to show,
To everyone, what a tantrum he could throw.
I know not why he changed so;
He became paranoid and deluded.
Thinking that everyone wanted him to go,
I had lost my son to a world thus convoluted.
I always thought I was free from blame;
That this was the outcome of his own game.
Could it be that advice such as "with others, you shall not compare",
Was actually my hand of hypocrisy driving him there?
Sure, at times I would compare him to other boys
And chiding him was one of my joys,
But surely, he was old enough to understand,
What was right or wrong from his end?
In the end, I will know not of cheerful smiles
Nor of his laughter bouncing off walls
Nor the steps of his feet on tiles
or the sound of his voice as he calls...
"I love you, father".