Stranger, Brother
No wings of crimson gold have you,
Nor ashy morning bed.
Yours is a less grand fate by far,
Not red and bright, but dark and blue.
His sorrow he never said,
But his despair we all knew.
Neither I nor the night bird
Could make amends for you.
I would have never had a place
Beside his massive shadow,
Had your wings not been clipped.
Shall I call you brother?
Shall I mourn you, stranger?
Your legacy I've but sipped;
His face in shadow,
Mine in shame.
I wish when he looked at me
It was you that he saw.
Maybe then when blue met blue
I'd feel as cherished as you.