The Bitter Lute

Turbulent vital air landing
Can’t hold son’s hand now
Led away by his father
Due to my state and
Words I had to speak

My son’s tears the bitter lute
Curing the pain that was growing
Under trusting the primary feminine
Can these tears stop flowing?
I hope so they are mine
Am I numb or just full knowing?
Any other route corrupts him
And leads to my exhausted demise