The Bedrail Of A Father Hurts The Son

The Bedrail Of A Father Hurts The Son

He lies there, king unseated,

fading under dim-lit care,

the empire he once guarded

divided, stripped, laid bare

I stand beside the bedrail

not out of love or grief

but to watch him drift and wonder

how silence forged a thief

The younger son got riches

the lands, the house, the gold

I got the name, the burden

and stories never told

He’d nod and call it duty

he’d say I was the strong,

but strength without affection

just teaches you what’s wrong

He lies there still, not speaking

as if the past might pass

as if I don’t remember

each hollowed-out “perhaps”

That rail between us gleaming

a final cold divide

the line he never crossed for me

no matter how I tried

I do not seek forgiveness

I do not hold his hand

I simply stand and witness

what he will never understand

Let younger sons go counting

the spoils they never earned,

this watch is not for honour

but every scar I learned