round dos.

Here's a narrative one about my brother. He means a lot to me, so I thought I might write one about him. Here it is :)

(non) Sense

Sir Nicholas Beard

The jeep rolls into the driveway, a welcoming sound to my ears

(as my brother is now home: so close so near).

His footsteps are heavy on wooden stairs.

The door creeks and squeaks, the cold stands up my hairs.

I mock sleep, pretending to grow awake.

The springs of his mattress, they scream, they shake.

Welcoming… a warm feeling of safe.

I wonder what he ponders, as his weary eyes strafe.

We talk of nothing, but it is never nonsense. It is never this, but truly, it is.

Deep discussions avoid the room, as oil avoids water.

The drone of the fan is like that of the wheel, full of clay, of the potter.

But all this matters little, because we grow.

We grow through this, and oh, it shows.

We are building a foundation for a tower that will stand the test of time,

and we hold steadfast to these conversations, we will find them to keep us in line.

Who knows if he enjoys these moments (of insignificant importance) but I do.

And he must as well, this (at least) I hope is true.