Sweet Brother
I cannot believe you gone,
So youthful,
Just now beginning to enjoy
The reward of your industry.
The message came from cyberspace,
So far were you away,
And yet,
I feel the hole in the fabric of the universe,
Which your loss to me has meant.
You and I fell victim
To the imaginings of another generation,
Played as pawns
In a vengeful game.
We never had a chance,
You and me,
But we did have our moments,
Left now for me to treasure
Amid my conflicted grief.
Do you remember that morning,
High on Windy Point?
It was you and me
Alone,
Save for the deer and the elk.
We were immature,
But sturdy,
With a recklessness borne of youth,
And we climbed high into the rocks
In the glory of the early morning light,
And marveled at the majesty;
Rocky Mountains,
One of the Lord’s very best.
Do you remember the cabin on Grand Mesa,
With the pristine black slough
Sitting quietly at its side?
We had blackberry brandy
For breakfast,
To steel us against the cold.
We climbed high that day,
Above the tree line did we go,
Learning well the laws of nature,
And the lessons that only brothers know.
This is a story of loss,
And knowing now the depth of my failure,
As I realize that it was a big brother that you needed,
Nothing more and nothing less,
But I was left to hold the party line,
And deny you this simple pleasure,
Making you another victim,
As was I,
As were all who touched this story,
Opportunity now lost
Forever,
Or so it would certainly seem.
I wish I could give you a ‘big brother’ hug,
And draw you tightly in,
When I would tell you that I loved you,
And I would be better,
If only I could do it all again,
Cruel fate,
However,
Has reared her ugly head,
And stripped us of our opportunity,
So much has been left unsaid.
I am left with my conflicted grief,
Wishing there were moments
That I had left to steal,
When we could reclaim all that we lost,
And tell each other how we feel.
So please be patient with me a little longer,
I am so sorry to have to ask you to wait,
But after all these years that have intervened,
Just know that I’ll get there,
But I’m going to be a little late.
Axilea
Like Crys, I'm glad you'll be a bit late. --Charlie
Cryssa