An Ode to a Friend
Like a moth without light He left unpersuaded, Grated against the banks time, Drowned in an embrace of change, Knowing he has to exist. He jeered taunts to the future, Challenged the past, Spoke in the present, This place was not his to stay. The moth he was, He journeyed on, In these foreign lands, He slept; Amongst cherry blossoms and bald blackthorns, Crippled by contradiction, He sang to the wind, it blew And he went. An idealist? Rarely; He read of existentialism, The practical, The subject, The heart, The people, He was not conflicted, Never was he a tortured soul, Harnessed by reckless words, fawning nor smoke. He knew his purpose, And he left this place, To those keen to serve in blindness. We acknowledge our temporary existence, however, we celebrate our lasting connection, I will always remember you old friend...