Martin

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Martin (dedicated to my friend whose love for his brother, whom he never knew, is quite extraordinary.)

I stretch out my arms for Martin …
If I could, I’d have dug his well deeper,
If for me he was never meant to be,
I remain alas my brother’s keeper.

Why didst Thou my mother’s heart break?
For Martin, until her last day, she grieved
Burdened by guilt she should not have borne
Unto Thee did she steadfastly cleave.

Until this everyday, these years later,
In prayer do I call Thee in dread.
I can’t help but wonder why Martin …
Wouldst Thou had taken me instead.

I writhe in my anguish to fathom,
Thy ways in the wee hours I’ve sought
Why didst Thou decree so severely?
The pain his young death hath wrought.

Alan D. Busch
10/2/09