Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2016
I can no more describe Wolfgang in 140 characters than 140 million.
His mind and spirit were far too agile for that.
His mind would carve and caress ideas into new shapes the way his hands would form and caress pieces of wood into beauty they did not know they possessed.
He engaged each of us in different ways, changing the arc of our lives.
And thus through us his immortality is assured.
It is our duty to continue bending in new directions.
So bend we will, always  under Wolfgang's now ethereal, impish gaze. It is the least we can do for one who gave so much.
I wrote this the morning of the funeral of my closest high school friend.
Written by
Thomas White-Hassler  Bangor, Maine
(Bangor, Maine)   
207
   Doug Potter, --- and PoetryJournal
Please log in to view and add comments on poems