I have vague memories of my father,
when he was king of the mountain;
he willed to me his grace and virtue,
in the hopes I could stand unafraid.
I was but a boy, perhaps unaware,
standing in a valley ‘neath his sky;
but where he was kind, I was bitter,
where he had thunder, I was staid.
As years turn to dust and shadow,
and his light has faded from view,
all but his presence yet remains;
what was once his joy is now mine.
Only now, can I truly know him,
by the man I am, as mirrored sun;
and in the shadow of what he was,
can I bear my own light to shine.