At The Crossroads

at the crossroad
we meet again

not as father and son
or brother to
brother

we shall meet
as friends
and shed off
the bad blood
between us

if blood does not
work and thresh
conflicts out
let us be dying men
in bone and skin
in thirst and hunger

what we need
is water and food
and some wood
we do not need
words
for another round
of argument

why not brother?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!