He was the first always: Fortune
Shone bright in his face.
I fought for years; with no effort
He conquered the place:
We ran; my feet were all beeding,
But he won the race.
Spite of his many successes,
Men loved him the same;
My one pale ray of good fortune
Met scoffing and blame.
When we erred, they gave him pity,
But me — only shame.
My home was still in the shadow,
His lay in the sun:
I longed in vain: what he asked for
It straightway was done.
Once I staked all my heart's treasure,
We played — and he won.
Yes, and just now I have seen him,
Cold, smiling, and blest,
Laid in his coffin. God help me!
While he is at rest,
I am cursed still to live: — even
Death loved him the best.
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Comments
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I don't think that I have ever read a poem that so beautiful worded the way I have felt since my brother's death. This is such a wonderfully sad write. I have always been the one in the back seat to my brother. His light always shone brighter than mine, I guess. When he died last year, it almost killed me, maybe because I wanted to go before him. But alas, Death loved him best.
becca
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