Final Journey

eulogy for my freind and soul brother "Drummer Bill"

Author's Note

There he was, walking across the bridge in the hot sun—guitar in one hand and a beer in the other, coat draped over one arm.

I pulled over and picked him up. There were tears streaming down his face, amid the sweat and a sad far away look in his eyes—our hippy, our mountain man, our brother.

He and Russ and I conversed for a couple of hours. Russ and I tried to get him to stay that night, but he would not. He left at six, after kissing both Russ and I on the mouth, tenderly and gently—he had never done that before.

Walking down the road, he had one wish—to see the sun coming up out of the waters of the Atlantic, the great ocean on the other side of the country.

He wandered a while, played a while and gave music and happiness to the people who crossed his path. “Playing for smiles”—our gentle giant with a great wealth of talent and a heart and soul to rival the sun he wished to see rising from those steely blue eastern waters.

Some time late in the evening, exhausted, he stumbled back to the overpass—a place he felt a special connection to, where he knelt in prayer. He prayed for those he loved and he prayed for that final wish.

Suddenly, a bright warm light shown around him and an angel descended before him. Her hair flowed like ebony silk and her eyes were the color of a stormy sea. Her satin robe clung to her angelic form and in one hand she held a golden guitar—she was his guardian.

She held out her slender ivory hand and he took it with no hesitation. Miraculously, he was flying across the land as he never had before, arriving on the distant shore just as the glorious sun began to emerge from the cold blue waves.

With tears streaming from his eyes, he gazed into the flaming dawn and knelt before the angel with a joy and contentment he had never felt before. There on his knees, surrounded by the angel’s light, he assumed the pose of a child at rest, with no worries and no more burdens on his soul. Then in her warm bosom, he opened his eyes and saw the pathway home.
Maggie O’Mara
Ode to Bill Cowleshaw May 19th, 2006

Reviews

[londenberg]

i'm not big on grammer/mispellings becuz im misspelled & errored but I think this is interesting, it has this religious feel to it, a divine inspiration some sort mixed with a realistic feel or experience to it, all in all, pretty good.

sincerely from the writer of "LondenBerg by Lord Biron"