I've tried rewriting him like he is another poem
embedded between pages of secrets
replacing his eyes with sparkling adjectives
polishing his edges
enabling him to roll off my tongue like I imagined he would
I've traded his scars for words laced in silver
like beautiful words would stop the bleeding
but broken men are not poems
they are not to be sculpted into stanzas
they are time bombs
with three seconds left on the clock
they posses oceans inside their lungs
their eyes are riptides
you cannot rewrite the parts of him
to coincide with the parts of you
they may be broken
their hearts turning black and blue
but the solution to their problem does not begin with you
you can stretch your hands as big as they will go
but it will never be enough to catch their pain
you will drown trying to keep them afloat
the solution to their problem does not begin with you
It will never begin with you

He tried so hard to fulfill,
Something that was not his to build,
But now his blood has been spilled,
and he is not the only one who was killed.
I do not say, he was brave.
I do not say he had it made.
But I say this, as my final words,
*Thy who remained unheard,
The unseen sibling of Hiccup the Third,
I wish I could have conferred,
the death of his old vicious herd.