The Cost of Death

The Price of Moving On 

Cover my eyes 

when I die— 

so death 

does not see you 

and mistake 

your grief 

for an invitation 

Life moved on 

death moved in 

I have gone from this house 

the pale rider now lives here 

Even now 

the house remembers 

the footsteps 

the laughter 

it knows 

who belongs 

and who doesn’t 

grief bangs 

the pantry door 

at midnight 

and death 

loves a house 

that echoes

 

Do not linger 

on the porch 

Close the gate 

do not look back 

I am more than the dust 

settling on the mantle 

or the draft 

beneath the door 

I am the love we built 

the warmth of my hand 

the cadence of my voice 

Keep those 

in the light 

but leave 

the silence here 

it belongs to the rider 

and you have miles 

left to walk 

Grieve 

Go 

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

The Cost of a Mistake

The Price of Redemption 

We judge others

on their actions 

We judge ourselves 

on our intent 

Imagine 

living your life 

based on 

one mistake 

or several 

a moment of weakness 

a careless word 

a selfish choice 

A mistake 

is an event 

not a name 

Yet we are prone 

to carve our failures 

into monuments 

and live in the shadow 

How much 

remorse 

how many 

apologies 

how many 

good works 

would be enough 

What is the cost 

of a mistake 

What is the price 

of redemption 

I can forgive you 

for the price 

of trust 

He will forgive you 

for the price 

of asking 

 

But you—

You must forgive 

and there 

the ledger changes 

Nothing I say feels enough 

nothing I do feels finished 

and nothing I offer 

can unmake what I made

Yet, redemption 

was never purchased 

by carrying 

the mistake forever 

So, tell me—

what is my price 

what is your price 

of laying it down 

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

June 18, 2026 

The Cost of Information

The Price of Fellowship

We live 

in the information age

Some may call it 

the misinformation age 

Still 

the amount of information 

at our fingertips 

is staggering 

and rife with rabbit holes 

One has to wonder 

should these words 

(bits of information) 

survive 

what future generations 

would perceive 

from our colloquialisms 

(chase that down 

the etymology hole)

A noble experiment 

without the benefit 

of the double blind 

reveals the price 

of this glut 

of available knowledge 

Observe a gathering 

of friends 

coworkers 

classmates 

even random strangers 

Conversation 

eventually fizzles 

(if it were present at all) 

and we all get lost 

in our personal information devices 

These devices 

are not inherently evil 

they fill 

a growing need 

to be informed instantly 

as events unfold 

They become our escapes 

from the doldrums 

of common conversation 

of meaningful chatter 

of personal connections 

We are on 

our own islands of facts 

on our mountain of opinions 

in our grotto of isolation 

And the price 

of such knowledge 

merely the touch 

of human interaction 

the price of fellowship 

Information 

severing 

the cord of connection—

each of us 

holding the world 

in our hands 

while losing 

the person 

beside us

Input source: © Ron Simpson Jr. 

Input date: June 10, 2026