My dad had a temper he passed down to me,

And I’m scared I’ll become what I don’t want to be.

For his father’s temper ran hot equally,

As did each man before in our shared history.

I don’t know who came before that distant man,

But based on the pattern set up by his hands,

His father’s temper surely like thunder ran,

Out of the fire, back into the pan.

I have a temper passed down from my dad,

And from every young father who ever was mad.

And all of the sorrow from each spurned young lad,

Turned to resenting the father they had.

I feel their ghosts reaching up toward their sons,

Expressing regret for the love that they shunned.

I have the potential to continue this run,

But I swear by my life, this cycle is done.