Contradictions

I have been working on a short story about a father and son who have become estranged. Time has passed, several years have gone by and the father is at the end of his life. The son has ironically spent his entire life and fortune working for the less fortunate in society. It’s about grappling with old grudges, pride and buried, hidden suffering from the inability to reconnect.  It’s about stagnation, fear and ultimately regret. I will share my opening lines with you that came out in a way as a short poem; summarising the story rather lightly and semi-playful with rhymes.

The Activist

You live so much for the other, 
but where are you?
Your ideals projected towards another.
If I am not with you,
I am nothing but a “fou”.

For a cause so brightly burning,
late at night you stay up turning.
Attention to all the things truly unjust,
as soon as morning comes, go out and fight you must!

On the other side of town, a wounded father is layed to dust.
No obituary from a long lost love, too proud to visit, and eaten up by misdirected disgust.

The rights of the stranger,  ever so ardently and nobly pursued.
Yet the emotions for and by your father,
so masterly subdued.

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