"In the end of days, elderly women will see visions,
young men will prophecy."
— You foresaw the storm, the whispers in the wind,
writing warnings in fire, in ink, in truth.
"Man should not fear death,
Fear ability to live."
— And so, you lived, not as a shadow passing through,
but as a flame, burning bright in defiance.
"They ask for truth, yet love the lie,
So I ask you—why?"
— You dared to expose the quiet part,
to say aloud what the world tried to hush,
to hold a mirror to the blind.
"Man flaunts eye candy,
lavish garnish, trophy wife."
— Yet you saw beyond the glitter,
beyond the painted masks of power,
choosing substance over shine.
"All that glitters is not gold."
— You walked away from illusion,
from being someone’s prize,
choosing freedom over chains,
knowing your worth beyond the price of a ring.
"Separate church, state,
People’s civil liberties—
Love, love, freed from tyranny."
— Your words rise against silence,
a voice against the tide,
a poet with conviction,
unwilling to let history be rewritten in dust.
And so, I thank you,
for your fire, your truth,
your defiance, your ink.
Your words are not just written—
they are etched into time,
screamed into existence,
refused to be erased.
The road to the middle is paved with good intentions—
but you never walked to the middle,
you walked beyond.
