This is dedicated to Noah A. Page, you are an extremely inspirational writer and a person I miss dearly in my daily life. I hope you're inspiring other people elsewhere.
You came in the heated blister of Summer,
a Summer I recall strictly in youth's depth.
Waving hair fell down your face, chocolate
the same as your eyes that bore into words.
There in a place so faraway from it all;
from the buses, the streetcars, the lights
and mostly the sour disapointments,
we found each other in a strange mess of life.
As dicsovery commenced, odd as it was,
I found a wordsmith amongst artists
and a unique being like none other before you.
The sky to us and us alone looked painted,
a blank canvas a child waves its hand across.
Life's curves and detours came and passed,
We took to them much like One instead of Two.
Cruel, crisp Winter grasped our creative minds.
No longer was there green grass for us to lay upon,
and no longer did your hand find mine in the day.
Ice blanketed what used to be our playgorund,
and now words could not unfold like before
So we forced them in screaming cries onto the floor.
Weeks dripped by with incadescent slowness,
yearning for sunlight I imagined backwards
Of a sweet time when first we were together.
Now, sick with attempts an explosion occurs,
so close to the encompassing light of Summer.
Our hands are too small, brittle to hold on
Our shoelaces are tangled, and our bodies worn.
All we could do was gaze upon the coming days,
and know we could not make it to see their greatness.
