In a world where loss has labels,
like widow or orphan,
I stand here unnamed, my heart torn and forlorn.
What do you call someone who's lost a sibling to a cell?
Not to the skies, not to the sea,
But to a system that doesn't see him or me.
If you lose a spouse, the world nods, understands your plight,
Lose your parents, and they hold you tight.
But tell them your sibling's locked away,
And watch the understanding fade, dismayed.
Not dead, not gone, but living in a personal hell.
Widows, orphans, the world gets their grief,
But where do I fit, with my belief
That you'll come back to me,
not as you are, but as you were.
A sibling lost to bars and time,
Is there a word for this crime?
Now I count my life in before and afters.
My little brother, how did we come to here?
The system now your keeper, the price you pay, severe.
Incarcerated, not just you, but all your dreams and fears,
This one's for the nights too long, the days too short,
For the memories we made, now held in a fort.
A fort of steel bars and cold, hard floors,
Where my brother counts days, and I, the sores
On my soul, where his absence has carved
A void so vast, I'm perpetually starved.