Daniel Brothers

A tree grows with a rotten branch by a lake with a calming breeze; And though it holds this great dead weight it stands with relative ease. Decaying wood by new spring buds  seems like a detriment, why not remove the scar of death why cling to what's been spent?  Perhaps it waits for a wind most strong to prune with a powerful gust, the limb which then, will fall to the ground where moss will grow like rust.  But till that day, the tree will grow and shade it's scar with leaves. A dead branch, or a sentiment?  Such is the way of trees.

by Daniel Brothers There is a lean to at the end of my favorite hike, And it’s certainly not the only lean-to, nor my only favorite hike, But I know that it’s there.  And no matter how long I’m away from the wilderness, From the rapids rushing over rocks, mixing the scent of pine With dark brown algae and earth,  I know that it’s still there.  Simple, as most lean to’s are, great old trees and rocks turned into a safe spot to rest, and hide from the flies. I know what it’s like to rest there I can visit it in my brain, though I am usually far away.  The distance almost makes it easier to recall,  in a strange way.  So distant, it becomes a constant, stationary in my mind, and sweeter for it. Because I left the flies behind, and took the pine and the earth, And the rocks are there too. What would I do if one day I walked down the path And found an empty clearing. No note, no smoke. Just an empty clearing where rapids rush and breed flies In hard rocky pools....

AUGUST 7, 2018 / ROBBY BROTHERS If I fail to see where I’m going. If I fail to see what I’m writing. If I fail to see who I am. I hope you can forgive me.   If I stumble. If I make unfulfilled promises. If I leave unachieved goals scattered throughout my life. I hope you can understand, it is not meant as disrespect, it is not a lack of passion.   If I am silent. If I am sullen. If I am unproductive. I hope you can find it in yourself to love me anyway.   Because if I fail to see myself through all my fear and insecurity, as I dig my way out through all of my dreams and other dead things, I hope I can find your hand, waiting there to pull.   If I fail to see.

AUGUST 24, 2018  /  ROBBY BROTHERS I prefer to be trusting. I freely give some trust to all people, and more to those I let close. Only when that trust is broken do I stop to think if it’s deserved. I pick up the broken pieces of trust like shards of glass, the edges cutting into my palm and slivers working their way into my heart. I fashion the parts back into a whole, and if I see no ill intent, I once again give the one who broke it my trust. Cracked. Fragile. But mendable. Only when my heart is so full of slivers that my blood is choked and I cannot fit the broken pieces together will I leave them on the floor.

AUGUST 7, 2018  /  ROBBY BROTHERS I left a steady plane for worlds of uncertainty. I miss the sureness of my feet, but god… …what wonders there are to see.