Too consumed by our own lives
So few of us ever got to know
The greatest man that ever lived
History does not record his name
For though his life was simple it was complex of thought
Overpowered by background noise he was impossible to hear
And his words too young to be considered of worth
So I will identify him for you here

Countless great wordsmiths
In countless many ways
Over countless many years
Using story and verse
Have invaded our minds
Desperately grappling to explain
Truths they thought only they could define

Their voices hollow, barely whispers in comparison
To the poignant observations by which he proclaimed
Sighting logic’s illogical sense
Uncovering dogmas devoid of de-tail
By the feelings he was frightened to convey
By the words he found difficult to say
By the concerns that tortured his mind
And the absolute truth he was so desperate to find

Since time immemorial wars have raged
By difference of opinion
Or when coin was involved
To prove their own power
Or to feed the hungry vote
The glorious march towards everlasting peace
Or by touting the value of their own useless worth

Yet these barely compare to the battles for his mind
For his war did not blaze across the screen
It seethed inside his very soul
An intensity that did not wane as battles do
But raged with relentless remorse
His life was fuelled by false hope
That reinforcements would save the day
Regrettably help was betrayed somewhere along the way

Our drive for achievement, permanent or temporary
Lobotomises ethics and values
Replaced by rationalising tumours
Totally contradict the intent
Touting the eleventh commandment
On ranting misguided hysteria mass
Only to later learn the truth eventually learn the lie

His worlds of reality and hope collided
Completely congealed
Value based on use and rarity
Hypocrisy of word and deed
Of thought and action
Of hope and truth
Reality chilled his soul
As its reach penetrated every hole

To us life's reality prevails
As we take it into our stride
And trudge along a line defined
Never daring to step aside
Assurance of a previous step
Traversed by all others
To pay the price at last

Chains of Ethics and morals bound him strong
Providing only questions and contradictions
That which he loathed he was forced to wear
Heirloom jeans the perfect fit
Proudly in his Prussian blues he marched
Along a torturous path
Rescued twice not thrice
Straight into the black hole of time

Barely having reached manhood
Unable to come to terms with the world and himself
Of whom I remain unconditionally proud
His words are forgotten to me now
But the taste remains
His existence defined me
And his presence completed me
His every word transcribed as joy
And his joy remains as ecstasy supreme
His triumphs made me proud
While his setbacks have left me numb

            My son