What cruel fate, madness!
Twining seductively about the human soul,
sinister to the ears, so hark!
A story told, of long, long ago,
of two brothers, estranged.

Emperors of men, husbands of wives,
fathers of children, priests of wisdom, passed.
Two ***** born unto the world,
and upon their brows, marks,
one of serenity, and the other – of downfall.

Puzzled were the sages, the magi and wise men.
Who were these babes, that they bore the mark of heavenly make?
One, with the air of wisdom, of pride,
the other – fallen from some future grace,
to live shamed, disgraced.

And so the seers spoke as one:
“When Utopia is grasped,
tragedy befalls those in search
of further want.”

As one, these brothers aged,
through the times as a single soul,
wise beyond their years.
One was named Arubus,
the other, Hectarin.

The professors wondered aloud,
“Who are these boys,
that they speak prophecy?
Do they not know Hell,
and the treachery therein?

And the boys knew not of Hell,
but of war and teachings,
chess and strategy,
compassion and pleasure,
poetry and philosophy.

Of Arubus, he was fair!
His youth blossomed,
as he ascended to that of a man,
and he grew tall, and was handsome.
The ladies swooned, and the strength of Hercules rested in his palms.

Oft would be the time,
when he would venture out from his father’s kingdom,
and topple the trees of the valley,
and bore them back upon his golden shoulders,
and the people would ring out with rejoicing, praising him -

a god amongst men.
Intellect rested humbly upon his bronze brow,
and his regality was borne with grace,
so that no wretch could look on him,
and resent.

Arubus was praised, he was the first to be born
from his mother’s birth throes – the first expelled from the womb,
but oft the people would whisper, that Hectarin – in a sudden seizure
of immense jealosy – seized upon his brother’s ankle,
and followed on his shadow, not to be outdone.

And so of Hectarin, the land would wonder,
“Who is this man, that he burst forth
on his brother’s will for life?
Is he a devil, perhaps? He is indeed quick of wit,
and sly with his cloven tongue.”

For Hectarin loved with all his heart
the people in his father’s keep,
yet the people loved Hectarin not,
but rather held him in their deepest respects, warily.
And Hectarin knew of this, and grew resentful of Arubus.

And his soul grew darkened,
and the light of his face, once golden as the gates of Olympus,
paled, and in his eyes shone a fey light.
Yet his love for his father’s hand remained unabated,
and fixated he remained, desperate for a favorable hand.
_________________________________

Thoughts?
Consider this final stanza the last installment for this part of the story:

No such hand came, and Hectarin despaired,
for he was still – though aged to that of a fine man -
in need of some praise from the seed which gave him breath.
And with a cry he proclaimed,
“Who is loving you, that you give me none in return?”