The clouds crawled from the waste like shimmering roses,
And the heather blushed in the snow, pale carmine to a pulse of opal.
I told her of the pluvial gardens
Of the terse white gloam
Of the rotting billows of ashen snow
That blow the silken frost of hemlock so cold
Swathed in a bower of magenta and stone.
My promise to you, Kyle, is that all your poems and short stories will be published. Goodbye for now.
8 comments:
For now. Righteous.
ALOHA from Honolulu
Comfort Spiral
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So young. I'm sorry to hear of this.
A bummer.
Too young! The good die young. Not a very artful saying.
Oh, my he was good.
Thank you, friends.
thank you, My Brother, My Friend, My confidant. And the only other person in my life that may possible know exactly what I am feeling at this time. Love to you and my two special ladies. I love you all so very very much.
I'm not sure how but were going to make it through this, Meta. But we will and I do believe the answer lies in his words that will live on. I'm blown away with what I'm reading.
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