A man of syntax and punctuation,
Though not so keen on grammar,
Used the most wonderful words in conversation,
But pronounced them all with a stammer.

Seemingly one-dimensional,
But deeply layered with meaning.
He tore the hearts out of sheep
Just to leave them there bleating.

To death, in one breath, he could swim there and back
With his hair a little more white,
And his lungs much more black.

Like smoking, on fire, his one true desire
Was to burn himself out before his freshness expired.

Now here he lies
All still with closed eyes.
I can't help from thinking he got what he wanted when he died.
I hope he's finally found the answers that he couldn't when he was alive.