The last poem was about me
and you.
This one won’t be.

You’re gone.
It’s a sad surprise
this Christmas season.
Your love,
laughter,
energetic soul,
and brotherly caring
will leave a void
in my friend’s heart.

It makes me weep.

But I cry easily.
Even now, words
are blurred
on the page.

But she, my friend,
never cries.
She is a rock.
She puts up walls.
She takes care of others.
She takes care of business.
She is stoic,
a white with few emotions shown.

No one can ever see
how she feels,
how she hurts.
She shrugges
and trugges
on.

But you always made her laugh.
Always made her smile.
Always filled her heart with
tender joy when no one else could.

Her home walls
are mostly empty,
except for photos of
her family,
and the art
you created
and gave her.

Her eyes,
always bright,
would sparkle and shine
even more,
when she talked
about you,
your creativity,
your capacity
for caring.

“My brother” she’d start,
with a big smile:
“He is different,
but so creative.
I love him so much.”

Some of her best stories
start with:
“One time,
my brother and I … ”

And now you’re gone,
and, for the first time ever,
I heard her weep
in pain,
in sadness,
in soulful sorrow,
in loss.

She must be hurting
more than I’ll ever know.
I do understand
how much she loved you.

You will be missed.
And what will she do
with the homemade Christmas gift
she made you?

Sleep well,
creative prince.
Sleep deep,
while we,
left behind,
in emptiness weep.