Half For A Brother, Prisoner Poem by Faeo de Lyre

Half For A Brother, Prisoner



This touch, partial, chain'd your plays 'round nature,
From your heart; flexibility intil fragility
Yours, was his emotions. Do you know? And sure

Of the rancid capsaicin? I guess if
You do. How lazy to be awake, your feelers?
And blind, your science? To sum up the grief

You grant your shoulder intil penetration. Flight
Is a risk; the toucher must cruel at you
And disallows you this most. What strong in might,

The bitterness? So far from a heart, his hand.
Alas! So weak and under age, my care intil your
Perishin', that violent. For the blood to stand

My affection __ our bloody oath, intil mankind,
My infection. But wept it over, my pride
Is personal. Tast'd my tears but to bind

My tongue intil stuck and digest'd my pains,
I am therefore, half for a brother, half for
A prisoner. Let my last but echoe as reigns

Intil your sentence, your shade is from the body,
Who alone bore the hand, that my tongue is wont
To cross. Would experience, in best, embody

The testimony? I cannot wear your shoes
But I know the colour of this hell. Have
My hands, I cannot caress intil quietus

Your cries but to die along intil the weakness
Ours, b'fore this mighty monster that chop souls
In individual, bit, bit. Numberless

It is in the list of man's greatest enemy.
Thus, to take up the gauntlet, I shall take
Heart in a softer form intil an alchemy

From any unseemin' stubbornness. Brother! Where
Are you? Be! In that our line was ne'er wont
To valour nor under-confident, but bear

Hard, my broken sinew that cannot save the mark
Or say 'halt the hurt, it's hot' from another's
Vantage. It was a slip of pace, elegiac,

As carv'd in the least, that accumulat'd
To diminish thus. So, God told nature
If inevitable shadows make, indeed,

But our choosin', mirrors. I dare not hold
The art of touch; to inevitability
Is to err. Journ you in health as ageold

As I shall pray and dream upon my watchful
Cares. Mired, my sorrow and complex intil our
Ground. Hence lopsid'd, the just scale; this baleful.

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