For Cornel Sampson
Strange how friendship breaks like strings into new
Theories about the bonds of life. I have kept news
Of nothing on the missing pages of history: and few
The the frolic ever reclaimed, but I do not lose
The hours spent in books when you were in school
I was not. We read the same ideal of other men
And thought them our own, we who never broke a rule
by choice, unexposed those days, circle now the den
Where ambition roars, and taste the blood of fear
We cannot let the dreamers see in us. Is it not now
Then that we should turn again and face the glare
Like a frantic manchild racing to the end? O how
You inspired me then with feet pounding into earth
Your body singing with the pain that made the laurel
Of mirth.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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