No,
Father.
I’ve long since surpassed you.
Grown beyond anyone’s expectations.
Even my own.
My titles outnumber yours,
You see.
My accomplishments,
Eclipse yours.
Poor man,
Lost in the woods –
While I’m doing my best at birthing new legends.
I’ll steal your title myself.
A single pathetic self,
Wrapped in a single identity,
Chained to a profession.
But…
Let’s not write you off yet.
Can I teach an old dog,
All my new age tricks?
Say I gift you omnipotence,
As best I can?
You have fifteen years,
Give or take.
What could you do with it?
I possess the powers of science,
Old man.
Never doubt what I could make you,
Even now.
What must it be like?
For a parent to be shadowed,
By a child?
Where does ego,
Cross with pride?
Or inadequacy,
With potentials?
I believe firmly,
That it’s never too late.
Those who seek me,
Unto perfection.
What perfect will you choose?
Can I play Pygmalion with you,
As I did for myself?
My Fair Lady –
Played out in redneck logger futures.
Could always choose ignorance,
I suppose.
Forsake offered hands,
As per rules of consent.
No means no,
After all.
Joking in simplicity,
Something about vans & rivers.
But what,
Could I make you?
No, Father.
