We walk fantastically nearby the outlandish overgrowth when I lean in and ask him if there is in fact any real reason for this?

Or had we simply decided to take some time, to comfortably unwind, to inevitably, invitingly, remind ourselves of far greater surrounds

These winding winds carry themselves mightily aloft by imaginative intrusion to the cause for pause which did forever remind my proud, proud brother of one such time = whenever we played pretend and at ferocious pace way back a yonder of a stolen piece of YESTERYEAR

We suddenly find ourselves in one such realm of these worn-out fields with farm-hands making their multi-enthused mark – out of sight and back to belonging to their both hungry and happy families now

Forever of a week, a month, a selling year and all of this while we travelled the sands of earth and dirt

Stretched and typically seething, reeling now, I ask another abrupt question of my tired brother, while he whispers at my stinging ear…
To attempt to comfortably see something midst these loud noises twisted tenuously midst undeniably, silently, nothing

Too strenuous indeed
My patience, or lack thereof, tended to upset the apple-cart, or whichever comparison might have made enough sense right then and there

Perhaps such a thing as a constant tractor in spades – willing itself to murmur along
Creeping at crawling, everywhere til making it all feel dilapidated, miraculously precious and real again

We breathe by the other person’s remarkable foresight in seeing no real evil whatsoever at all – all of it simply utter chaos blessed by these two chosen pairs of juvenile eyes

Which will opt upon kneeling down for one last time
To unearth what is thankfully, visually, mild – asking my brother for the touch of his final hand

His rambling middle- and accomodating fore-finger linger and he falls, and fails at speaking again

I imagine him to have said to me that he had one last thing to bend and to tell my listening ear

Eager now, if not forever, I think he would have asked for one powerful poem, and at that I feel I have failed and all by myself

Left to picking up the stricken remnants of yesteryear’s fond, fond memories which still linger tantalisingly nearby – failing to meet ourselves right by the middle of what is recklessly real

Stuck upon fond, fond reverse, this thirsty portrayal of sliding-doors ours