Twenty Years

Twenty Years

Little brother, I missed your birthday—

a week ago tomorrow.

Prob’ly would have if you were alive.

But then, I’d call tomorrow.

But I can’t—cause you aren’t here.

Death is cold. And hard. You aren’t here.

Twenty years have passed;

I don’t know your voice, Tucker Joe.

Sheol swallows all our loves.

I don’t know your voice, Tucker Joe.

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I think about Death a lot. Below are links to a couple of more normal essays - as well as some other, more personal, reflections.

Are You Afraid to Die?

A Eulogy

A tip of the hat to a dear friend

To: Alex