The journeyman of sounds;
A welder of the pain.
From the land of abundant treasures
And alternative domains.
Dyed black mops.
A youth spent alone —
In a room full of darkness,
Save for your glowing tones.
Just another gutterball outsider,
But the star of the dejected.
Your poems sung of promise —
We ask: why were you not protected?
Roads “long and weary”;
You were just as lost as us.
I guess that’s why you were lifted:
To The Highway you were ******.
Now no more Black Holes,
Nor Seasons of “endless winters”.
And no more Curses —
Your side free from thorns and splinters.
Although I never really knew you,
You helped encourage me to tread.
I’ll do my Jesus Christ Pose.
For you Heaven isn’t Dead.