My Black Brother

Once, you told me:
Our lives were mapped out
On a tapestry.
We were born into hate,
Fed the victual of rancor,
Blindfolded,
And poisoned.

Then, my answer was:
This is our creed,
Our duty,
Our home,
And I would see it flourish.

You, the black sheep -
Cheapened by your dare
To be different,
Your sin for spurning
Your birthright.
You became nothing
But a hole in the wall.

Yet, as I stand by this lake,
As I fragment,
Drinking in my faults,
My fallacies,
I see the truth.

This, this was my life:
A failure to question,
A part of the milieu.
This was my existence,
Passionless and colourless.
Verily I submerge to my end
Blacker than you.