Isreal

Rest in Peace

Unworthy syllables tiptoeing with hushed thoughts,

Dies with me. 

Uncherished signals treating white hymns tragically,

And then some. 

Our pale couch whispers into a daunted pen,

Unsure of when he's coming back again. 

Guilt of delusional phone calls that rang through unanswered childhoods, 

Metastasizing fog with muffled muzzles cracking into brother's and sons.

Amnesia of the lonesome, there and back again, survive through memory bend, 

My poet, my champion, my long lost friend. 

Reviews

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A touching and sentimental piece that breathes perfectly when read, well done.