Brother.
You gave quarter when it was needed the most.
Are you on trial, then, at court martial?
I would stand and be counted in your stead.
But I know not where, or when.
You are mute, though I would not use your words against you.
And I have, pent up in my troubled head, a thousand apologies;
A thousand memories where you were the stronger brother,
The more forthright and certainly of sharper wit;
A Noble amongst peasants. A king without a crown.
I have tried, prone, to ask your forgiveness. Is silence the reply I must accept?
What now has come of my attempts, other than to drive you farther away?
This I did not foresee, my peity an insult upon your injury of my disrespect.
Give my pining quarter, brother, knowing that I would take the knife before you.
I would accept any burden to spare you, but my hands are empty.
And I know not how, or why.
Your silence is that knife.
If I must ask, then I will ask this of you:
Don't skirt around your reasons, for though you think they may only do harm,
So be it. Have I not insulted you far more?
And I would welcome your honesty hoping it would bring you some ease;
A blessing only if you seek to disguise them no longer.
But you are silent, and I am a fool.
Do not quarter me.
Please quarter this sorrow, though, in the face of my ignorance.
How have I failed you?
How have I failed you?
Are you on trial, then, at court martial?
I would stand and be counted in your stead.
But I know not where, or when.
You are mute, though I would not use your words against you.
And I have, pent up in my troubled head, a thousand apologies;
A thousand memories where you were the stronger brother,
The more forthright and certainly of sharper wit;
A Noble amongst peasants. A king without a crown.
I have tried, prone, to ask your forgiveness. Is silence the reply I must accept?
What now has come of my attempts, other than to drive you farther away?
This I did not foresee, my peity an insult upon your injury of my disrespect.
Give my pining quarter, brother, knowing that I would take the knife before you.
I would accept any burden to spare you, but my hands are empty.
And I know not how, or why.
Your silence is that knife.
If I must ask, then I will ask this of you:
Don't skirt around your reasons, for though you think they may only do harm,
So be it. Have I not insulted you far more?
And I would welcome your honesty hoping it would bring you some ease;
A blessing only if you seek to disguise them no longer.
But you are silent, and I am a fool.
Do not quarter me.
Please quarter this sorrow, though, in the face of my ignorance.
How have I failed you?
How have I failed you?