Philosophical

Slogging through the swamp
trying to find my brother,
quicksand tugging at my feet,
I look one way, then another.

Who my brother is
I don’t even know,
but I know I must find him,
where did he go?

Is he civilized,
is he Black, is he White,
does he lie, does he steal,
can he read or write?

Are his feet of clay,
be he saint, be he sinner,
is he a man
I’d have to dinner?

Night is falling,
terror in the swamp,
full of howls, full of screams,
not a place I want to romp.

This man is a stranger,
where can he be,
then I realize
my brother is me.

My Brother