Thursday, June 20, 2013

Kyle Joseph Knapp 1989-2013

As I stepped with the blinded women, hand in hand to the wooden terrace
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.


Cloudia said...

For now. Righteous.

ALOHA from Honolulu
Comfort Spiral
~ > < } } ( ° > <3
> < } } ( ° >

Charles Gramlich said...

So young. I'm sorry to hear of this.

Chris said...

A bummer.

Oscar Case said...

Too young! The good die young. Not a very artful saying.

Leah J. Utas said...

Oh, my he was good.

David Cranmer said...

Thank you, friends.

Mates said...

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.

David Cranmer said...

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.