Charles Gregory, Author

In this garden I stand on trial,

as internal whispers swarm my mind.

How I struggle to remember,

how I struggle to recall,

how I struggle, in not knowing

when befell our fall.

 

From a moment in time, forever scarred,

to this very moment, time and day.

So many years I devoted,

so many years I had prayed.

so many years of myself given,

staying faithful to faith.

 

Was I a tragic, comic fool to believe

our schisms could be healed?

Past sins would be forgiven,

past grievances would be coped with,

past darkness we’d let go of.

How I hoped for hope.

 

I white-knuckle distant memories

of childhood laughter and of play.

Reliving our adventures,

reliving fighting for each other,

reliving the best versions of ourselves-

a brotherhood of brothers.

 

But destiny mocked and cursed us,

my dear little brother.

For fate had other plans,

for fate had already spoken,

for fate had other demands

in breaking that already broken.

 

Then came the blow.

Unexpected came the call.

You were gone.

You were no more.

You were found, lost-

a breath no longer breathing.

 

A hailstorm of regret now consumes me,

as elderly, brotherly guilt infects me.

If I could only go back,

if I could only reverse time,

if I could only get a message to you,

I would say what needed to be said.

 

Denying pride and perished time,

even if it meant trading fates,

I would say, “I love you.”

I would say, “I’m sorry.”

I would say, “there’s still hope.”

I’d fight for that worth fighting for.

 

But now, I stand here,

in this silent, lonely garden,

With saddened, angry, determined tears,

with screaming slow-paced whispers,

with grass, dirt, and blooming stone,

haunting that which haunts me.

 

DEDICATED TO MY BABY BROTHER:

(November 24, 1983 – March 18, 2024)