Poetic Friend

You were my hero The wick of my poet flame tongue became extinquished and my mind grew restless You were like a god Sooooooooooooooooooo I placed you on a pedastool Sometimes on a cloudy day You would often dissapear I would stare at the sky hoping for a break in the gloomy period so I could feel your sunny gaze I admit it, We are not The canvas and the Paint Not the words that graze the page, compilling together a classic for the age Not the gloves people wear on a chilly day Not the violin and the symphony rising higher in harmony Not early morning laughter nor even pillow talk more like oil and water as seperated as far as we can be Perhaps a hero should stay as such because after the stage light often goes out. A hero is just a man, whose not without fault But I miss my friend.... every time I write something new without a doubt