May 2014
It seems we never get enough
attention from all our friends
We seek to play, everyday
in the vain hope it never ends
As writers we are a vain bunch
never satisfied with ourselves
Making wonders, of life’s blunders
that will then sit upon our shelves
From each of the great poets here
we search for that kindly spirit
Seeking such proof, tempered by truth
In hopes we can stand to hear it
We all seek the purpose of life
through our friends we each spread our wings
With each letter, we get better
from that comes the joy writing brings
Friends will die and leave us alone
with those things of life we can’t see
Though I know well, he’s not in hell
I think I’ll let the mystery be
Tate
attention from all our friends
We seek to play, everyday
in the vain hope it never ends
As writers we are a vain bunch
never satisfied with ourselves
Making wonders, of life’s blunders
that will then sit upon our shelves
From each of the great poets here
we search for that kindly spirit
Seeking such proof, tempered by truth
In hopes we can stand to hear it
We all seek the purpose of life
through our friends we each spread our wings
With each letter, we get better
from that comes the joy writing brings
Friends will die and leave us alone
with those things of life we can’t see
Though I know well, he’s not in hell
I think I’ll let the mystery be
Tate
When my friend took leave of this earth I wasn't ready to see him go. It felt like such a tragedy. There are some absolutes about this life that don't adhere to our way of thinking. In truth I have never been injured this way. It is all about growing up. I know it may strike some strange but I have been fortunate to have avoided these pains till now. And fortunate to have had such a friend.
