Saturday, June 2, 2012


Good people will meet again.

Those are the last words
You’ll ever speak to me.

I’ve watched it grow on your neck,
The cancer slowly killing you.
See the blood you cough up,
Blood from your lungs where it’s metastasized,
Taking root even deeper,
Successfully stealing oxygen,
Unsuccessfully thieving hope.

Devils rode you hard
Those three years you slept
The sleep of crack rocks and consumption.
But now, you’ve found your truth.
Your eyes open wide
To the beauty of the earth.
A gentle breeze moves the treetops
As your soul begins to sing.

In four weeks, you’ll die.
But they’ll be four weeks on your own terms:

Clear headed
Hope filled
Loved by God

I’ve come to trust you, love you,
So I’m counting on what you said:

Good people will meet again.

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