Looking back, I think of you
and all the dreams you spoke.
Eldest brother, strong and true,
but on life’s shore, you broke
Early on, you ran away
and left us to chase you.
Never in line, life astray,
always seeking the new.
Precious, mercurial soul—
never quite understood.
Always fighting young and old—
all the muster you could.
Through the cracks in your armor,
I saw you, so alone.
Life just kept growing harder,
all of your pain unknown.
Numbing down your impulses—
buried under a haze.
Loss multiplied your illness—
you were on borrowed days.
But I still always recall
your unique point of view.
In your humor, you would freefall,
making me laugh with you.
Days grew darker, too, your need—
nothing could fulfill it.
Beside you, I walked, to plead—
never to outwill it.
Eight long years, coming up fast—
time moves in such strange ways.
Your life, never meant to last—
I think of what you’d say.
You’d crack a joke, so highbrow—
wait for my reaction.
I’d laugh and stop; raise my brow—
subtlety, in action.
You’d gently tease, light banter—
waiting for my response.
Your expectations tampered
down by your nonchalance.
Many ways, we’d disagree,
still always come around.
Forever our guarantee,
our love always profound.
Author’s Note:
The saying “Never go to bed angry” comes to mind. My oldest brother and I had a very complex relationship—there was so much love, but so much damage between the two of us. We could be thick-as-thieves but were often at odds. His time came during a moment we weren’t really talking much. Out of all my losses, this one has been the hardest for me to process. Too many unsaid words lay between us. An ocean of regret.
And one thing about him was his wicked sense of humor. The man was brilliant. When he left, my own sense of humor retreated into the shadows. I felt I’d never laugh again. So, I haven’t really been able to write about him until now, fearing I would somehow fail. This isn’t the final word on him, his life, and his legacy. But it’s a start.
— Liora
Thanks for reading this poem. If my work here speaks to you and you’d like to support it:
– Buy me a coffee — a small boost for the human behind the words.
– Feed the kitties — cover a day’s meals for the colony I care for; you’ll get Whiskers in the Dark, a mini-zine, as thanks.
– Grab my chapbook — Through the Fire, Vol. I is out now on Amazon, premium print + digital.
Want more? Paid members get voice readings, process notes, behind-the-poem inspiration, and get the full archive.
Lost in the fire? Head to the Home Page