Ne’er will there be any other
Who can compare to a brother.
Younger or older matters nay
They are there for you, come what may.
Though a bond which is quite unique
‘Tis a love not oft of we speak.
Though they may know we hold them dear
Perchance it would be good to hear?

I’ve been chastised for writing poetry that was too angry.
I guess there is a lot of red in the world already,
why not spread some pleasant lilacs and a checked picnic blanket
and sit down for a while?
Why not quit thinking?
For just a moment?
Quit forcing the words to fall from our lips and
quit trying to speak over our friend,
Silence.
They have a lot to say.
Why not let them talk a minute?
Close our eyes.
Listen, smile, and nod.
No need to answer.
The quiet can tell when we’re paying attention,
and it meets us halfway with serenity.

I know all that emptiness
where the noise used to be
can get scary.
I know that all too well.
But it isn’t the Silence that tries to tear us apart.
They want to wrap us up in blankets of soft evening clouds
and remind us that not all is yet lost.

Look at me.
Let that sink in.
Not all is yet lost.