Every time I pass the place-
He makes his bed tonight.
Teardrops well within my eyes,
And tend to blur my sight.
Four feet of dry south Texas clay-
A cover for his bed-
A stone with careless lies engraved-
Adornment at the head.
“Beloved father”? what a joke-
Genetic truth,... I guess- ..
“A friend to all who knew him”?
A falsehood at it’s best.
Yet comes to dearness to my heart-
There’ll never be another...
To ever take his place nor part,
He was my younger brother.
Wild and reckless in our youth,
I find it passing strange,
That I, the worst by far of two
Should be the one to change.
I was the one that people said-
“Would die a violent death”
I was the drifting outlaw type-
Who lived on borrowed breath.
But I grew up, as he grew old-
No longer were we close,
The things he loved, I learned to hate
The alcohol the most...
And then one Friday night he met-
The fate which lay in store...
A coward with a loaded gun...
Him, dead upon the floor..
Miss him? you don’t know the half-
I guess I always will-
You’d be surprised how many souls
A single shot can kill.
In memory of my brother Ronnie, murdered June 7, 1996. I still miss him.
[This message has been edited by Gunslinger (edited 12-08-1999).]