this too shall pass

Gibbons is the greatest there ever was,

Morrison said it better than all the rest,

Bukowski was the king;

this too shall pass;

like a river it flows,

on and on,

from here to there,

over before it ever

had a chance

to begin,

in the morning

you were gone,

never to return,

your taste still fresh,

your touch

lingering

on the wind,

your smell like

lilacs on a warm

spring day;

the last breath is breathed,

memories slowly die,

laughter gives way to silence,

the final journey awaits,

the empty darkness looms

ahead;

Gibbons is the greatest there ever was,

Morrison said it better than all the rest,

Bukowski was the king;

this too shall pass.

.

.