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My Brother passed 24 June 2019.
An Ode to My Brother “Kevin”
Kevin was born, the fourth child, sworn
In Gods’ true family, a baby’s destiny
Rejoice-full stares and thankful prayers
Of a healthy child, of a mother mild
At coming through, the process true
The laughter sought, begotten naught
Of the miracle there, a lifetime bare
For all to see such a healthy deed
As Kevin grows, there’s something throws
My parents off, their happiness tossed
For something’s wrong, the mind’s not strong
A normal test, stagnation rests
Amid the wires, short circuit fires
The body’s good, with thoughts that should
Be normal fare for all to share,
But horrid thoughts of retard brought those tears to their eyes
Kevin grew, his body true,
With a childlike stance, pure innocence
Not violent nature, more godlike creature
He laughed and played till nature stayed
His friends away at an early age
They grew apart for their thoughts were smart
For Kevin stayed a certain way
His body grew but nature threw a curve his way
I knew of him, a brother’s whim,
Though smart I’m not to that life a lot
My ignorant ways, those selfish days
My life to live, and little to give
My Dad was there to share his cares
A life protected, Dad’s love projected
They were pals you see and fun to be
For around the home all sports were known
But nature came, struck down that game,
My dad was gone, forever done
His fractured heart, its damaged part
A life cut short, so young, so “mort”
His pal’s alone, confused, and thrown
Aside you see, society
Understanding less, his best time guest
Was forever done, forever gone
I woke up fast to a lifetime cast
My mother’s burden to raise him further
For Kevin’s mind, so childlike finds
The wrestler’s madness became Kevin’s gladness
His thoughts were busy, wrestle-mania frenzy
It kept him sharp and today he’s smart
Of thirty-years of wrestling fears
Adrenalin rush, stark madness crush
The Sheiks a bust, Laredo lusts,
The pencils fly into the eyes, the crowds all cheer.
Hulk charges thus, Rick Flair’s not just
Stone Cold you see, his heroes be
The wrestling greats, alive he waits
For the next excursion, the Sky-Dome version
Wrestle-Mania Eight, Summer-Slams, can’t wait.
His life so simple, his dolls his symbols
To comprehend my lifetime trends
My worries there, my foolish cares
I think of him, our “Tiny Tim”
A life so precious, his thoughts so gracious
I see him often, my burdens soften,
His outlook ‘s clear, no worried fears
For he ain’t sharp – no matter smarts
His life is dear to those few so near
I am so lucky
To have him
As my brother
© John Morrison, 2004
