Howard

A note in stark blank ink to leave.
He waits alone and gently sighs.
And only one friend in the world,
a friend who sits away and cries.

Here in his cold dead fingers spray
his sword quakes, slips and falls away.
A hero loved but never known
who wrote his dreams but lived alone.

A aching sadness from her chest
consumes the land his genius spawned,
and as the anvil hammer falls
his god the solo mourner calls.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.