I know I have been a bit prolific today but I found this as I was tidying up this evening and wanted to blog it now before I lose confidence.

It is just a little overdue for his 45th birthday, but I wrote this for a good friend who died of a heart attack on his 21st birthday a few moons ago.

The Irishman

You would never have made old bones
Whatever took you away from us knew that.
Your eyes weren't meant to sparkle from beneath that mop of dark hair
Now your words mock my naivety for eternity.

You haunt my very being
Every empty moment is filled with thoughts of our past

Would our friendship have survived had you lived?
Maybe, like most kids, our destinies would have taken separate paths
Death was nature’s way of making you mine forever, but without the heartache.

You schemed to make me everyone’s destiny except your own.
You gave your blessing to every childish infatuation, but I wanted you.

My imagination now glorifies our time together
My heart craves a perfection that didn’t exist.
I remember every mannerism, every expression
But never the bad bits!

You haunt my very being.
Every empty moment is filled with thoughts of your past.