My brother, blasted from this world

by a blood-stained butcher

for ten days saw the light

abandoned in a world of pain.

What did he gain?

I have seen his grave,

hard fast against a wall,

sheltered by a tree

tiny bones in tangled roots.

It doesn’t bare his name.

The footsteps of his ghost

followed us to every home

angelic, sainted, untested and unknown,

a child of illusions with nothing to give or prove.

Held back by his hands how could I compete.

His weight against my back

demanding that I move.

The only way was love

and love bought with it grief

for a boy I never knew

who never knew me too.