The standard you walk past is the standard you accept a Sonnet

The standard you walk past is the one you take,

And what you leave unchecked, you choose to make.

We hold the power to stand up and act,

To challenge wrongs when they are clear and fact.

My brother grew in joy, with family by his side,

Yet, early on, a darker truth did hide.

Though mischief came, remorse he never knew,

His guilt was sparse unlike his siblings, too.

In youth, the signs of strife were hard to see,

A sociopath, they call it now, you see.

He showed no care for right, nor others' pain,

A life of taking, but of loss, no gain.

Through youthful years, his crimes did multiply,

From theft to harm, beneath the watchful eye.

His friends and kin were targets of his need,

And soon, the law would see the guilty deed.

In time, he learned to dodge a harsher fate,

By turning on his own, and sealing hate.

Some forty years have passed, and still they burn

His acts of treason, they will not return.

For years, his ways were marked with fraud and lies,

With theft and guilt, beneath the world’s disguise.

He broke his vows, betrayed his kin and trust,

A man of greed, to whom no love was just.

He took from death, from those who could not speak,

To steal from them his conscience still too weak.

When called to say goodbye to mother’s side,

He turned away, with none but selfish pride.

At last, when she had passed, he made no show,

No grief, no tears just left us here below.

Yet still, he took his share of all she gave,

Her love denied, for selfishness too brave.

A friend had died, and there he came to stand,

To shake my hand, though none did understand.

I looked him down, and spoke with scorned dismay

"Not here, not now, no handshake comes today."

And still I said, as anger filled my chest,

"And please, don’t steal just let the past rest."

It stung, but freed my mind from toxic chains,

A quiet peace arose to quell the pains.

Forgiveness comes, though not without its toll

The heart is scarred, but pain may take its role.

I’ll forgive, though trust is never more,

For his betrayal haunts me at the core.

Our mother, kind, would still forgive today,

Yet in her grave, her love is swept away.

His final wrongs, she could not now erase,

Denied her heart, her soul, and her embrace.

So, though the world may treat him as before,

I cannot let him be what he was yore.

For silence speaks, and kindness aids deceit,

And leaves unchecked the truth that lies beneath.