By
Crystal D. Arbogast

My brother stumbles through
The streets of the town,
Clutching the bag tucked
Inside of his coat.
Searching,
For a warm place
To spend the night.
Alone, with his only friend.
The one who soothes his troubled soul
And comforts him with the blessing
Of forgetfulness.
I weep for him, but do not
Call out to him anymore.
Instead,
I tend the grave which one day
I will lovingly place him in,
And cover ever so gently
With rich, warm earth.
A final kiss,
Goodnight.