When great men die the birds cry and sing songs of sorrow,
rain falls, thunder rumbles.
The house is empty; it cries out for its master.
It always waits to no avail.
Every tomorrow that passes by, we drift away from what was a happy
home.
Where a father and son spoke in the dead of night on leather
sofas.
“Come put these shoes together.”
“This is how you shine them.”
“The sheets, you tuck’em in, in an angle.”
“Fold and iron your clothes and always be neat.”
“If you’re going to do something, you do it right or not at all.”
I carry your lessons in my weakened heart that still beats evermore
faintly.
It gave me trouble last night, and in anger and frustration I lost my fear of the
Big Sleep.
Of going away without any Glory, for all I’ve known since
you’ve been gone is loss.
Loss after loss, failure after failure.
And in the throes of defeat, I’ve come to accept that
it is my lot in life.
Though I crave to bring you Victory, I now welcome
defeat so it hurts me no more.
Today my heart felt stronger.
It rose like I saw you rise from those hospital beds.
Rising from near death again and again.
For such a man these birds cry and sing to your
Honor.
I’m glad you visited me in the realm of dreams last
night at the movies, sitting across from me as that
strange picture played.
If my heart beats tomorrow, I will keep punching back at life,
and if it does not, then at Eternity’s gates we shall share our
stories.