Death

2/23/2017

Death sings a song heard by all;

Almost everyone, hears the call.

Some, answer as day breaks;

Some, when midnight falls;

Some, rush to greet it;

Some, come prepared;

Some, just hear a whisper;

Barely even felt or heard.

But Death always sings this song,

And everyone, certainly hears the call.

Goodbye Papa.

What do I have?

What do I have, but memories of blurry roads and chasing sunsets,

Of speeds reaching more than a hundred,

What do I have, this heart that aches for more,

Indeed, what do I have?

We have but a time cut so short,

Those quiet moments of care,

The rare words of wisdom,

From that stoic man up there.

The many daring stunts of youth,

Never did snuff out your light,

Yet all it took was a bad night,

You've been hospitalized once;

For more than a month,

Yet for this moment,

You chose not to add another hour,

What do I have indeed,

27 years,

27 years of wanting...

Of needing..

More.

RIP: RCR 2/22/2017