My Brother, the King (for deverse; Let's get a little medieval)

My Brother, the King

Am I envious?

Of the crown he wears

The women who succumb

To his royal advances,

The palace in which he lives,

Abundant in its material guise,

Dungeon of doom.

His thoughts,

Hold no more value

Than my own

His teachings

Instilled with cruelty

And punishment

No rod is spared

For his inability to

Remember

As he lay quivering

In a dark corner haunted 

by the memory of misunderstanding

wounded still from the bruises

of childhood.

Such fine clothes

Adorn his frailty

He hides his fear

Dancing with the Queen

Who does not love him

Simply a womb with a crown.

Am I envious

Of my brother

As I live outside

His prison of contempt?

 Even though I am-

Bastaridized

Insignificant

Poor and wanting

I do not envy

my brother, the king

 

For I am wealthy

In love

And all the poverty

Of being cast aside,

Child of our father’s mistress.

I am warmer

In the fields of want

Than I could ever hope

To be

Within the confines

Of his prison

I hear him weep at night.
Do you?