Birth date: Nov 30, 1945 Death date: Jan 1, 2023
Glen Arnold Peck, 77, of Annapolis passed away on Sunday, January 1, 2023. He is remembered as a loving husband, father, brother, Papaw and friend. Glen was born on November 30, 1945 to Ethel and Arnold Peck in Owosso, Michigan. Read Obituary
❤️❤️🙏🙏❤️❤️
Brother, Brother, what have you done?
You have gone up the stairs to be God’s son.
Your voice still echoes in my heart
your smile drives away macabre thoughts.
Brother, brother, why did you take leave
when evil saw you as too naive;
Isn’t it true that death is an inevitable end,
and that you can’t escape the strange trajectory.
Brother, brother don’t consider me selfish,
I didn’t talk to you, sorry, I was foolish.
I want to express my sadness
But I don’t know why I can’t get any tears.
Brother, maybe life has trained me that way,
to stay unshakable when emotions neigh.
The peace your face shows comforts me
as your soul’s mirror is the face only.
But your soul has gone back to its origin
your face doesn’t matter; you were
of treachery and obstacles and life’s hidden traps
just relax near that power and watch over us.
Brother, your presence is much more now,
you might have gone high and low,
surfing the seas, jumping the clouds;
disguising as nature’s unknown wonders.
Brother, brother, you don’t have a race,
you are the same as a rainbow’s haze,
or the light falling on the cascades,
or the wind that comforted me this evening.
Brother, I know there is destiny
and that nature doesn’t judge justly.
When your heart slowed its beat,
did you wish something?
All I can do is surmise
Because death always lies
that’s how it manipulates its victims
only the Angel of death shall listen to your last whisper.
Your soul will be the same as other beings
we are just animals; the earth always spins.
Brother, it gives you a day
But, never reveals what will succeed.
Happiness is always followed by sadness
success by failures
birth by death
chance by hard-work.
It’s not what you do in life that mounts respect;
instead, it’s the display of gratitude when help’s bereft.
That makes you remembered and loved.
Death itself is a miracle, never sanctioning a fair chance.
You make promises, my dear brother,
The bringer of end never bothers.
The steps you made created life’s
without any soul, even knowing.
Dear brother, your fragments go back to the Earth
Your soul to the spinning fire hearth.
Absorbing all the energy like a magnet.
You shall take a new life form, I believe.
Like all the loved ones I have lost
you’ll be my protector, not eternal to the past.
Sorry, brother, my breath will be air one day.
And I will be where you are anyway.
— Susan Jacob
