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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required For my Brother and his bipolar journey With fifty-nine tears, I stare at the phone, wanting to understand. I had your voice in my hand. Intense pain now washes through our decade’s bones. I must be able to rinse it, cleanse it and restart with a stable heart. Always layers of hurt from you. Now there is another, my lost Brother. We may never meet again, not as siblings or as friends, yet, you choose to bring our last call to a painful end! Distance and age whisper chilly to me, of a certain possibility; this call could be the last call of all. I wonder, do you feel that, too? Does this sad truth also shadow you? In life’s darkness, two stars shine on; one is our Dad, the other, our Mom. Dad could not take your constant rift of frightening dread. He couldn't bare your street life and mentally buried you in his head. Mom could never sever the bond, so her enabling still goes on. Neither parent was right or wrong. Both were desperate to survive your heartbreaking song. I never knew what to do, but I sought and fought to do it right. I would help, I would insist, but true help, you would resist. I’ve abandoned my hopeful persistence by accepting that I’ll never have brother-relief, not in this existence. I’ve lived years of concern waiting for some informative word. Nothing was heard to calm my concern, just bad news as frequently occurs. I’ve had a lifetime of watching you fill your own spaces by selfishly passing thru daylight. Rather than climbing up to achieve a healthy need, you always sat aground and caused yourself to bleed. Whether you’re in jail or living drugged on the streets, loving you has never known relief. I gave you my all, walked all your dark halls. Can’t we now have peace? Please, on some near tomorrow, borrow another phone. Call me and let us be the best of us, let us share love to enhance what is left of us. One more, last call for love to be shown when next your voice is in my phone. Regina McIntosh - Encourage Poetry Contest 10-25-15
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