warriors respite | Jeivon Parchment

he struck his brother once, 

not to wound 

but to remind him that rage still lived

where love once did.

they stood among ghosts 

of what they built together 

a home turned to ash— 

a silence too sharp to share

in grudges, 

in the dark corners of minds, 

where forgiveness 

feared to tread.

and yet, 

when one reached out, 

he spoke not of miracles— 

not the kind that arrive softly

but of memories— 

a hand trembling upon the other’s shoulder,

and the world slowing to pause 

in the hum of something still living.

for a moment, 

he remembered 

we've always bent the world 

to our will.

bound not by blood, 

but by the knowing 

of each other, 

they had buried one another a thousand times—

this is what it meant 

to be two parts 

of the same 

haunting ache.

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Jeivon Parchment is an English Major at UAlbany. This is his first time being published formally. In his freetime, he enjoys rewatching his favorite TV shows and reading.