Are we not the sons

Of the destructive

Self defeating other ones

The ones who know

Who feel

Who think

Say a lot but never speak

Are we not the silent majority

Who do

But whose feelings are left behind

Locked

Imprisoned in a room of bars

But nothing to drink

 

After all we are taught to wave the fist

To take the initiative

To run the race

Take the risk

But not to reveal all that’s inside

To scream and shout

But never to cry

 

We are the sons

Encouraged to brawl and brag

To declare an allegiance to a particular side

To wave the flag

Yet we must never show

All that we are

In case we are turned inside out

We are the sons of fathers who never

Said what they did

We are the sons of sons whose fathers

Were a different tribe and time

Where a hug was not on

It was a manly shake of the hand

Or a slap on the back

And you were expected to have all the answers

Because that’s what your father did?