Your words, a whisper in the void of the night.
I never saw your face, just felt your soul.
You have gone, you left a void, full of light.
Yet your poetry makes me feel like a fool.
Your poems, like echoes of a distant fear.
In each line, a truth we dare not speak.
Make us feel, the end is near.
Remind us we’re frail and weak.
In sorrow, I find you, now you’re gone.
Your art now fuels my own desire to write.
To leave a mark, be it ever so slight.
To leave a trace, though it may soon be drawn
With these few lines, to you, I raise my voice.
To honor your gift, your poetic embrace.
Through words, we make death a lesser choice.
For in our lines, our souls find their place.
