No longer do his footsteps echo in the halls. Nor does his smile brighten our day. Those of us who knew him will remember forever. Gone is his room though the walls remain. No pictures or poems, nothing that represents the man. By the gym is a painting by a classmate who painted it there in 1988. All who walk by it should take heed. That painting is the last remembrance of a great man indeed. 5/92
He was my savior in the night. A friend to lend a hand. He gave me a shoe to cry on and never once complained. He stood by me when I thought life was through and helped me stay sane. How can I repay him and show my grattitude. I merely thanked him for the outlook that he renewed. 5/92
The man stood on the edge of the cliff with a tear drop in his eye. The cold December wind biting his flesh like a razor. As he breathed in the salty air, pictures raced through his mind of a gentle boy so innocent. Yet he could not recall the moment that the world turned so bitter. As night drew in around him, he leaned forward into the clouded sky and existed no more. 3/91
Who is He
I see him standing in a field of wheat, dreaming the dreams of a dreamer.
I spy him lurking in the shadows of night.I wish I could reach out and be his friend. I watch him around town with his entourage, putting on a farce for all to see. I turn to meet him and gasp at the realization that he is really me. 5/92