Chariot Riders
Last night, i dared revisit the crossing
of time with my brother, hovering on a
distant sky , tracing notes of my dripping rhymes.
We grew like chariot riders; he, the Troy of
streets and I, the maiden of lofty speeches.
While his hands reveled at the wonder of seaweeds,
I reviewed the fury of ancient mythology---
he laughs again at the strangeness of my ivory
tower ; and above easels of clouds, he smiles
knowing only he could comprehend my weird
attachment to words, art, and tempest.
Ten years ago, he ascended somewhere
in the glow of light, shutting me from all
moments uninhabited… unleashed.
A blank paper shouts at my hesitating
litany as if it were aware how siblings
climb inside, touch the veins of bloodline…
yet, it can not. Like a pageless odyssey,
I close my seaweed eyes unable to continue
recounting that June day,
when Benjo slipped into chariot’s final ride
without nothing else to say.
©
*in sweet memory of my brother who
relished my uniqueness as a person
and inspired me to pursue my passion.
Carol Eastman's Unsung Hero Contest
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2012
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