He never was completely a rogue
Daring thief
On grave sleep
On water dreams
Of secret things
And over used
Things
indistinct
In his dreams
Of poetry
Yet he stole
Old thoughts
Mingled in mangled new ones
To make something
Beautiful
To share his wonder
Stealing moments
And sharing the wealth
The world will watch him
Fade
A shade of his endeavors
A slave to his thoughts
Dead and long buried
With only fragments
Left
Only his words remain
Whilst the rest of him rots