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Of heart and pain we shared between-
Though broken, while together we were full.
As soldiers marching cold and frail till dawn.
Beneath our feet, the world knew not our reap.
And days, like years, we shed our fear.
As brothers left to taste the fruit of life-
We bore such listless skies a pair.
Though not of blood, upon our backs we bore-
Each other's will to carry on.
Once thought him kin enough to never fall-
Beneath my sharpened, hungry pen.
But now his sickness draws the ink from me.
Our pain no longer fuels our bond-
Rather, it burns what bridges left, to ash.
It was not meant to be this way.
Though loneliness may try to buckle knees,
And death wisely clings to the dirt,
I still have have breath enough, to curse your grin
Save me from the monster's rebuke!
I cry, 'Oh brother, where for art though now? '
Wes Thompson
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Wes Thompson
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