"Paul"
by Chris Hamilton
to see their silent noble friend.
He lies beneath the scattered flowers
which form into his cherished name.
An open hand above his head
beholds the rising phoenix,
an instrument of darkness
which dances on the righteous dead.
The walrus speaks of sleepless nights
when braver men would show the truth,
the car that made too little sound
and Candlestick with lesser lights.
Masonic black and white, bare-foot,
the hexadactyl leaves his mark.
He walks the winding road unsure
if one day, somehow, he’ll be caught.
He’s not the man he used to be,
an imitator in plain sight,
the measured face that cannot lie,
the changing voice and different height.
We see who pulls the strings on high
in strawberry fields where nothing’s real.
The eyes that turn from brown to green,
the nasal spine far from concealed.
Bright are the stars that shine tonight,
high in a dark eternal sky.
He gave us everything. For that
our love for him will never die.
No more his boyish smiling face
and gone is all his joyful glee.
Still, his songs live on forever
to echo in eternity.
Chris Hamilton
May 2019
_________________________
Tina Foster is the author of
Email Tina at faulconandsnowjob at hotmail dot com
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