Judah muses in his tent alone as his father mourns.

Many hues instead of one.
Oh brother mine, such hatred had my heart for you
The youngest, but for one.
Oh Should-have-been-first-born, I was made to feel the guilt of birth
I was the first fruit of my father’s loins,
You the first-fruit of his love
I the product of distraction
You the pinnacle of many years devotion.
He loved you, and I loved him, and in my great needy love
I could not see you loved him too.
Blind fools, we.
All feeling about in the dark of emotions,
Yet you were naïve to believe all his praise.
Innocent, you appeared brash,
Trusting, you forged deep-rooted enmity between us.
Our father’s fourteen year passion and pain stood between us,
And you, who had not ever known rejection,
could not fathom the depth of the separating chasm.
Born of a second best mother,
Her sons could not both love and resent you
Though, I did come to love you in effigy.
Not till the blood of the goat stained many-colors red
Did I realize that I, who’s life was spent courting his approval,
Had in my blindness killed my father.