When you're not here tomorrow,
You will be sorely missed,
never knowing how your absence
carved such an infinite abyss.
But over time the crevice
Will slowly, surely be filled.
I wonder: "Was worth it
for you having been killed?"
When you're not here tomorrow,
a frantic funeral will be planned.
I'll dress in black—borrowing your hat—
defending you in a way people misunderstand.
Some will call you a brave soul
—while insisting your things be willed.
Others will declare you a coward:
"For you having been killed."
YOU ARE READING
When You're Not Here Tomorrow
PoetryAn homage to all those left behind by those taken too soon.
