A walk with my father

I step out into the mist,
my memory replete
with adages of old.
I walk by dim streetlights
grudgingly caged in fog,
hindered in their only charge.
when you walk my son,
the timbers will shake.
An ambulance passes me,
smashing the silence of evening
with a cacaphonous howl of sirens.
For a passing moment, I think
of the man inside the box of flashing lights.
A tear wells in the corner of my eye
as hiswife clings to his lifeless body.
Dead on arrival:
we should carve it in stone.
Living in the past is regret,
Living in the future is fear.
I push the man away,
my stride never breaking.
So this is way:
right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.
What enemies will I face in life?
Is it within my power
to make my existence what I will?
And Theseus spoke as he faced
the great monster "his shoulders
are broader, but mine are stronger."
The sky continues to spray its mist,
profligate with the water
so essential for life.
It gives equally, falling in
rivers, on trees, on streets,
on wandering sons whose own prodigality
is reason enough for pause.
Your light wil not be dimmed
like these lamps that line your path.
Your charge in life is to shine my son,
What blinding light you'll be.