The Abyss of Time's Canyon
Perhaps time will smooth the rough edges
Memory soften the toughness of his words
But now they must wrap him in moment’s lie
Bathe him in a flow of moistened myths
Will any speak of who he really was
Chuckle at his insensitivity
Mask the folly of his arrogance
Tickle the timber of his humility
Will they dabble in theories of life’s meaning
Standing on the abyss of time’s canyon
Or focus on the meaning of his life
His presence, his laughter, his sharp wittiness
We know he would not care for flowers or bagpipes
Would tolerate quiet sadness
Perhaps an unintentional chuckle
At a whispered one liner
He would not care for too many prayers
Would love those “remember that time” stories
For they let him find a way to say farewell
Knowing that he left you all a piece of his self
Copyright © John Lawless | Year Posted 2025
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