The Brother

He cannot be trapped inside a vault

No man nor woman is here at fault

Time's not to blame for turning the page

Nor would be the blacksmith for forging the blade

Some say that Man is among the kings

of animals, of all living things,

and his throne was made eons ago

over all that breathes and all that grows

But others say Man's a product of luck

his primordial Brother remains

lord of a diff'rent world, much the same

as when He arose from the muck

He is the facilitator of life

though so often He deals with death

He cuts for the living, with his knife,

those that have ceased to draw breath.

His home is the trees, the sea, the ground,

the air we breathe and the grain we pound

Man and beast both know alike

that He is quiet, He does not strike

but stalks silently over their mounds

Over Man's search for permanency, his quest

his Brother laughs, his Brother jests

one day, the Brother will lay all to sleep,

and in the blackness, nothing will weep

for Man, the one who thought himself the best