the father figure the stranger one in the same
never sworn to duty never embraced by purpose
no armor bequeathed no wisdom imparted
a warrior of the tribe by virtue of gender only
going through the motions of empty ritual
the cutting and the pain must be born
no flinching no crying in our fathers’ lodge
we are frightened and must be brave
willing to slay any foe sever any tie
we know the price others may pay
we can show them no mercy
lest our own weakness will out
and we ourselves fall dishonored
unworthy of a father’s name
Poet13's Blog 
I can see and taste the thoughts of this poem, it is as I perceived my father when he was dying.
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Thank you for sharing that. I’m touched my poem had some personal resonance with you.
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