Brother, my eyes swim in a retreating light,
between the shadows of our twin plight.
our hearts gripped by winter's collar,
furious and blind, bleeding summer.
I ache for a return to those times,
when as brothers we'd trace
those hills and rooftops,
unknowing of this end.
For were our lives not writ
with the ignorant ink of men?
wrapped in traps of intellect,
wearing muted masks to cast illusions
of strength that fool none.
Hostage to our tragedies,
only to find fleeting solace,
at the bottom of a bottle,
estranged from feeling.
Yet even as we raised
our walls and our voices,
we were loved.
By the casualties of our silences,
beyond our deepest afflictions.
May we be candles to our children...