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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Tragedy · #613571
Tragedy begets the strength to fight.
The strongest man I ever knew
Was just a boy and small.
At five years old, his life was snuffed
And I was left to fall.
He stood against the fist of iron
And shed no single tear.
I cowered 'neath the strap and fist
And cried my eyes in fear.

One night the fist was fury bound.
The pain was long and deep.
My eyes burned hot with tears of salt
But Michael's eyes did keep.
We drove our pushups by demand
And felt abuse on backs.
Our bodies writhed with pain and loss
Our limbs could not relax.

As night wore on and bed was near
I drew a bath for us.
The first to wash was Michael, slow,
While I was called with fuss.
In daze, I sat beneath the fist
Until he threw me out.
I went to check on Michael strong
And found him not about.

The tub was full; I peered to find
A body lay inside.
His hair adrift, a peaceful sleep
His breath could not abide.
A yell escaped my shaky lips.
My heart was beating fast.
I cried for him with sorrow deep,
But suff'ring? His was past.

The strongest man I ever knew
My brother was to me.
The weaker one survived the fist.
The stronger died, you see.
But he is now a strength within,
My heart contains his might.
I smile at him from time to time
And feel him when I fight.


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