Brother, below my window I lay tonight.
Mother moon luring my mind away,
sleep calls ending the days fight.
What I know of my brother comes only from
what I’ve been told, on highways in the
slow middle of the night and from memories
of old.
The truth rolls out harshly, a story too long
sitting tight on the throat. I couldn't
have told it better with anything I wrote.
I cannot allow the knife's edge to slice
through the moonlight which colors this hue.
I fear I’ll wake up from this dream,
remember the truth of it all and then
not know what to do.
I want to recite every detail upon awaking
to make a memory freshly grown. How can I,
however, love someone I’ve never really
known?
At night, what I know is what I dream mixed
with stories shared, of when he was alive, from
those who really cared
Nightly my sleep pulls me back to you in waves
with such a fierce gravity. Always beckoning me
back to what I wish we could be.
My brother, once you called a Nicolaitan to
denote my lifestyle but I buried that pain
away with you all the while.
So I sleep under the moonlight, hazy dreams
of what should have been. See how my hands hold
this pane all night because you're still my
brother in the end.