My Father and my Brother

My Father and my Brother
Christopher Bogart

My earliest of memories were
At my Brother’s knee.

He was not all that much
Older than was I,
But the experiences we shared
Gave color,
And shape,
And form
To a world that seemed
Full of possibilities,
Shot toward
A life to soar,
Far above the roar
Of millions of beating hearts.

We were young, both
Lions, roaming the plains.
Our manes
Grew
As we grew,
Together
In a life aimed,
I thought,
At an endless
Forever
Until…
One day I met
My Father.

He breathed Life into
My life until
His breath became
My very Dreams.

And then I dreamed
Of distant lands,
Of distant shores.
I bore the promise of the Sword.
I grasped the hilt,
I ripped,
I tore the stone apart.
The shards,
His words,
Culled from wealth of
Ancient runes and rhymes,
Became my tongue.
My young thoughts
Fresh, expanded forms
Of lions and of unicorns,
And how and when
I came to be,
How free I was to see
All that he had laid out
Before me.

And when my Brother saw
Of my delight on distant shores,
His claws, straining out beyond his lair,
Reached out to tear
Into the air
With deft aggressive art.

He clawed
At seams
Of thoughts at once brought
Forth on errant dreams,
Of nights birth borne
With glinting light -
A ricocheting wonderland,
Brimmed with damask and with gold,
He reached to hold,
To claw
My world apart.

And when his claws slipped,
He roared
A deafening and defiant roar,
In deaf rebellion
Armed,
Against his Father
And my own.

And when he failed
He cursed and swore,
My Brother swam across the ford
To stand on the opposing shore,
His back full-hunched
Against my Father’s reign.

Their separation
Caused me pain.
I would not live
Through this
Again,
For forced to choose,
I feared to loose them both.

For I desire for the best
Of each of them,
And so I choose them both again,
I know now that I am,
At the same,
Brother to my Brother.
But, when the day is done,
I am my Father’s son.