As I sit down to write some words in your memory, I hear a train blow it’s horn in the distance of the city. A sound I often don’t notice, or stop to pay much attention, Will forever mean something else as it haunts my contemplation. I didn’t know you that well, but I felt the power of your words I was inspired by the rawness, of the way you saw the world, and how you shared your stories with such passion and conviction. You had no time for fiction, and your sharp diction, made me listen. With such precision, you painted pictures filled with all your senses. Drawing me in with every brush stroke, I became lost in something timeless. We will always have your words, and the lessons that you shared. We will always hear your voice, and remember how you cared. Even though it may be hard, we must respect the time you gave To all the people in this world, and never let your memory fade Every poet has a calling, and teaches us to live in the moment The gift of words is passed from generation to the children Through trials and tribulations, suffering and pain, We are survivors of the struggle we all face along the way You will remain a shining light, for those of us in darkness And lead us out of night, into eternal days of living righteous Rip Zaccheus Jackson Nyce
Posted on: Fri, 29 Aug 2014 05:08:31 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015