My Brother's Hand

My brother’s hand regarded not my words for, they go unheard, as the silence grows my brother’s hand clinches cold and my last words fall to the ground pooling, congealing into an unsatisfied thirst. The devils on horseback are led to the water, but never drinking, as the blackened house lies in ruin. I wonder about the tree in the forest and the forest without ears to hear and the tree never seen, but alas and alas every man. How does a machete make more noise and fire be heard on the other side of the world? It may have been bearable, but I am not alone and I know their words will never be heard for they are in my brother’s hand. 11/5/2014