What bitter, petty words we spake Not knowing the pain about to befall Tonal disagreements fall wayside
Another artist plucked from earths surface. Nearly matching ten years difference Between brother and sisters flight
Now twice children orphaned Near identical circumstances A curse lay on the Peters name.
The first born of the first flight Rests at home immobile A kindred spirit and similar soul
In the wake of the news the Mentor hides away Kneels and begs, “Father, be this a test?”
“Another trial for my charges sake? And if not, for what cause shall it be? For a mother to lose son and daughter?”
“Again I ask, was this free will? Or was it your direct command? My charge is frail, I beg of thee,”
“Father please give him peace. ” The angel weeps for the broken soul Of the child he oversees.
He weeps for his little cousin His brothers who are yet to understand, His grandparents who twice face loss
He is too afraid to weep for his own sake, To cry out in brokenness and pain, So his Mentor sobs for him.
The two hold fast, silent in the dirty bathroom Quiet breaths of questions to their Father What lesson was there to learn from last time?
There is no resolution this night Only exhaustion, pulling the duo Towards the warm embrace of sleep
The Mentor prays over the resting form of his charge And begs his Father, “Please, give him comfort where I cannot.”
The night is warmer.















