There is this picture on my wall
Painted with flaws and discrepancies.
Now that I hint at its masked facade
I will see nothing but misery;
Deep desire embedded in french lace
A masterpiece in waiting, hidden in shame.
Make haste before the phantoms come
To rip the art with their aged tongues.
Consider for a moment, dear lover of life,
Creation is floating past the face–towards a knife;
Remember this portrait has no purpose but to stare
Back at the wall that I put there.
Insecurity sneaks up on me,
pushed closer to the edge,
that i was too afraid to approach.
The light is too bright,
glory's price is much too high.
The road is ahead,
the first steps are always mine.
Oh, but now will I falter,
will i fall before i have begun?
Answers only lie ahead.
August is the beginning of the year.
It was raining that night.
Death tiptoed in,
Out of the folds of darkness,
With his palette of
He left a shell of you,
As pale and fragile as a lily.
I awoke the next morning; alone.
Carefully, I sat next to you and
Hesitantly touched your forehead.
I ran my fingers over your
To remember you.
You felt like cold wax,
And never looked so perfect.
I stayed with you for more than an hour
Before waking mom and dad.
Eleven years old, you were
three years my senior,
my beloved hero,
and my only friend.
I never thought I'd be without
My older brother.