The Evening Star

I’m sorry brother.
we’re short on time and I have
too many words stored up in my
mouth, words I tucked away
for more appropriate & quiet times.
this is neither quiet, nor appropriate,
but we’re short on time and there’s
so much to say.
outside the alligators are devouring your children,
swallowing their alligator tears with
alligator teeth, alligator smiles that burn like
something held in your chest to
take the place of religion,
oh god is this how you made me
is this what you meant for me to become?
‘I just wanted to hear you laugh again,’
I’m saying through the alligator’s teeth,
I’m saying through gritted teeth that I grit
not for myself, but for my god.
‘we were brothers once, we were full of
blood and timeless youth.
don’t you remember? but that’s history,
that’s nothing, we’re out of time;
the alligators
have got hourglasses for eyes, the sand is
pouring down fast & thick
and over the rushing
grains I can hear my god of peace shouting
strike him down, strike him down.
I’m sorry brother;
I’m sorry we are ripped apart
by more than just our bloodlines, but
can’t you see the faces that turn
when I pass?
once I scorned them & then they
returned it ten times worse,
burned this into my hands and
now I must carry all of their hearts
in my chest.
I’m sorry brother, but this is too much;
one man canot suffer for his people
& still have time to make his brother smile.