Father's Sonnet...poem....critique please!!?

Question

I'll write you a poem and add music to it,

It can be our own special masterpiece

That's filled with deceit and all these lies,

Open up, that's why you have those eyes.

We lyed on the beach on the coastline,

For hours I kept believing that you were mine,

I've been through the ocean on a back of a dolphin,

I've seen hurricanes take away my house.

You see me I'm what the truths about,

A man inside a man who has no self belief,

A crying shame if you ever care to ask my,

Self pity is the only way to be.

I write you my poetry so you can pin them to the wall,

Four walls and counting, I have to much time.

I'll sweep away my thoughts with this broom you gave me,

It's made of horse hair...so that's what you said.

Now with the dolphins I swim again

Sixty thousand feet under, but I can still breath.

Hearts are at loss when it comes to breaking,

I can't help but fall onto both my knees.

I'm a macocust, a lier and a conniving thief,

Like father like son, I'm still in between,

So lie to me or tell me something beautiful,

For my soul, I sold to the devil long ago.

I hope your proud when you look at me,

Father, I grew up to be exactly like you

A mess

Answer 1

'Child is the father of man' is what the famous romantic poet declares. Thus if the father is a mess , automatically man also is a mess.

An interesting poem of six stanza and half stanzas, is a mixture of sonnet-***-poem. The last fourteen lines could well have been written as a separate sonnet. The poem on the whole is on the theme of love, - a sad strain that leaves a bitter taste which probably will last it seems till an eternity. A famous poet Bhavabhuti in Sanskrit says, 'There is indeed only one emotional rasa or drink, - the sorrow. It seems man grows fastest in his development in conditions of misery and suffering. True love and beauty is like La belle Dame Sans Merci - ever beyond the grasp of our human hand. Man is ever sipped in sorrow and slime and falsehood and deathlike messy disorder. He does not know but his soul happens to be the covetted and olympian prize both of God and devil. He is too fragile and ephemeral a creature to even resist, as for fight and emerge victorious is a dream for a Hercules and a Samson, not thinking weakling men !

As usual the poet finds himself in between two spaces. He has not come out of the first aspect because of the way God has left us in mess with the devil.

It is with curiosity and some satisfaction that we note that the poet has emerged and grown, to some extent intellectually, to bring the aspect of morality and philosophises like in Milton's paradise Lost. The last six lines are  a clear indication of that. Much may be observed and written of interest on this poem , but for the moment let us make a temporary halt.