there was a time he knew himself
he believed in himself through his passionate writings
that became songs—that he recorded—that he performed…..
those were his treasures, they were who he was
they where the definers of him and his life
seductively his belief and his vision of purpose were stolen
or thoughtlessly misused and given to decay
artistic endeavors became mountains,
where once there were but hills that he ascended and saw light
over time he only saw….. more mountains
laced with mazed paths too narrow to be defined,
ennui choked his momentum,
rocky steeps led only to inescapable valleys leading into
desolate canyons—offering nothing,
the determined journey of the artist died,
with out warning he died artistically, metaphorically
and to a large degree, spiritually,
the spirit to live, to even get out of slumber weighed
like an anvil on his back,
mourning and grief became his morning mood,
is resurrection only for Osiris or Jesus?
is there naught for him and the soul person he once was?
is there no him to be anew?
is he left with remaining days to be
shadowed by memories and tears of yesterday songs,
play’d only to remind him of the passage of his life
his time, passing in tuneless passion, lost along with purpose?
this then is a prayer for him
a prayer to say we long for him to see a new gate
a way made anew—aided by God‘s angelic architects,
that his is directed to a path that brings a living tomorrow
fueled by a living today
a prayer for him to live today
with a hope and a belief in himself,
prompting a hope and a faith in his tomorrows