Hercules

I wash my eyes,

they soak up fear.

I used to look at you

As if you were Hercules;

Strong enough to protect me,

Tender enough to feel my pain.

But you weren’t Hercules

And life isn’t Disney.

In fairytales, brothers don’t let ropes

Kiss their necks like pieces of fatal jewelry.

Before you let the rope fall

Did you whisper ‘I love you’ at the door?

Did you tell mom you were sorry,

That life had just left you too sore,

Never mind the fact your dad abused you

And left you poor,

But to society you just couldn’t conform.

So you drank until you could no longer feel poisoned

By a life who tore,

Your soul to shreds.

I wish you could’ve heard mom scream

As your childhood melted her face.

I wash my eyes,

they soak up fear,

for a world too over populated

to let brothers fit in like a puzzle piece;

so mind boggling because you could’ve been Hercules

if the world didn’t throw away your puzzle piece.

And you wrestled the pain

Until it smothered you without release.

I remember when they whisked me into their room,

Away from the cluster of faces that were merging together

In our family room,

Because our family had just collapsed like the rope on your neck

when dad held me and said

‘baby, he’s up in heaven with the angels now,

As if you weren’t already my saving grace,

And when I wash my eyes,

They drip the fear that

I’ll forget your face,

But you appear in my dreams,

And tell me:

That death is a courageous thing,

And courage is wearing a necklace of shame.

That life doesn’t heal wounds

and the world isn’t all its projected to be.

But in the end all that’s left is a name

And you could’ve been Hercules

Strong enough to protect me,

Tender enough to feel my pain.

But life isn’t Disney,

and brothers let societies lies

claim them

as they wrap ropes around their necks

like a strangling kiss

as life hands them over to death.