sons have to explore their own deserts

sons have to explore their own deserts,
carve their own scars, take their turns
at sipping the bittersweet winds of the outside worlds
(the allure of distant lights is irresistible,
and everybody needs to crack their varnish a bit)
while their voices change into an adult sound,
sons will yearn for the broken,
gaining depth as the nights evolve and devolve
like revolving doors at the doors of their halls.

sons have to explore their own hurts,
the loneliness and the euphoria,
sunshine on the grass and rainy days
in distant cities when the fleeing goes heaviest,
little by little modelling themselves
and the world around,
a world they need to see for themselves,
no matter how that may hurt loving parents,
sons have to feed on their sleepless nights.