For My Old Friend Harry

Some claim the measure of the man 

Lies in something tangible and firm;

His stature, his strength, 

His fame, his fortune.

But I, for one, find none of these, 

To be a fitting yardstick.

Rather do I measure Harry’s worth 

By the stories we have shared,

Comedies and tragedies,

Dramas and histories

Yarns of adventures gone awry.

Be they Joyous or humble, 

Painful or proud,

Of good times or of Ill,

I have found in these shared sagas,

His humanity,

Well hidden by gruff temperament,

Masked by mumbled words,

Infused with a certain spirit,

And well punctuated by profanity.

It is not despite these flaws

But rather more because of them,

That his tales of love and loss,

Of dangers, of trials,

Of hardships, of misadventures,

Resonate within my soul 

And will remain forever with me.

Godspeed my old friend.

Play These Cards

Why must we, so selfishly

Mourn the cards we didn’t get

Rather than revelling in

Every moment ‘fore we split?

Life comes with no guarentees;

Very sad, but it is true.

Let’s celebrate the hand we have

Before our journey here is through.

Don’t worry what tomorrow brings,

We truly have no way to tell.

We’ve got this now and memories

Of times together, me and you.

Let’s not waste a chip on grief

For what remains inside that shoe,

If we try to hedge this bet

We rob ourselves, both me and you.

Let’s play this hand that we’ve been dealt,

Revel in this very now

Without a thought for for what’s at stake

The pot’s still growing, anyhow!

Moving Onward

I can’t be over
the hill because I have not
yet seen the summit,
that point in the journey when
the path already
traveled is as clear as
the pathway ahead.
Since I can not see the road
that lies ahead of
me, that still remains shrouded
in a mist of steps
not yet taken, choices not
yet made, my path must
still be climbing upward to
some distant mountain
peak from which this sojourn’s end
is inescapably seen.