Though I rarely watch biographies, tonight I did watch the bio of Virgin's CEO, Richard Branson. There were several images which duplicated my brother Harry, who passed away from internal bleeding from a stomach ulcer long left untreated by the "advances" of the USA medical care system and advancing liver cancer. It seems to me what they advance in medical care in the USA is death and monetary savings for begrudging taxpayers and bankruptcy and forfeit of life savings for survivors.. This was the most devastating loss of my entire life. He was 46 years old, I was approaching my 48th birthday. For three months, I couldn't talk without crying so desperately my speech was unintelligble. The primary treatment for me was to drug me to the extent that I did nothing at all. The mourning would have destroyed me. I did the only thing left to do: I excerpted some of my sixteen or so copyrighted mini-books (each written under a different name in trying to regain my identity which had been brainwashed into amnesia) into one "best of" and dedicated it to my most loyal and protective friend, my adopted brother, Harald Franz Gango Murphy. It was an e-book for a while, long before e-readers were available. As usual, most things I do are ahead of what the world is ready for. I'll refrain for a time from my usual prosaic social commentary and let the poetry speak.
The following poem is of course, for my brother, written immediately after his death; it is the opening of my book and bears no page number. Some men are not to be numbered among the remainder. Harald remains one of those few.
EMPTY SHOES
For My Brother
I look
I see your empty shoes.
No one can take the place of you.
Blue topaz eyes
Teeth pearly white
From pain ground down
To half their size.
You, so brave,
You hid your pain;
You didn't like
My eyes "to rain".
But I must weep
This wound so deep,
The hardest thing for me to do
Was to gently let you go
Never that I wanted to.
I could not sentence you to pain
You brave and kind and gentle man.
You bore more than you should endure
And for these things,
I cry for you.
But for myself
The emptiness
Will be
Until my final rest.
With love forever,
From your "sister".
Pegi, April 27, 1999
The following poem is of course, for my brother, written immediately after his death; it is the opening of my book and bears no page number. Some men are not to be numbered among the remainder. Harald remains one of those few.
EMPTY SHOES
For My Brother
I look
I see your empty shoes.
No one can take the place of you.
Blue topaz eyes
Teeth pearly white
From pain ground down
To half their size.
You, so brave,
You hid your pain;
You didn't like
My eyes "to rain".
But I must weep
This wound so deep,
The hardest thing for me to do
Was to gently let you go
Never that I wanted to.
I could not sentence you to pain
You brave and kind and gentle man.
You bore more than you should endure
And for these things,
I cry for you.
But for myself
The emptiness
Will be
Until my final rest.
With love forever,
From your "sister".
Pegi, April 27, 1999
