To Brad Who Lives in My Memory
Herculean hug from a blithe spirit warms my heart,
Wandering the halls of memory tonight.Here at the end of the scene, wanting it to be the start,
Retrieving vignettes from my memory’s sight.
The warmth of his embrace, the Aether of his joy,Enfolding me with enthusiastic energy.
Releasing for eye-contact, like a cherubic boy,And asking sweetly about my family and me.
Not a worshipper of Haropcrates, he. Hermes better suited his style.Always entertaining, maybe woo, never stuffy,
On the Sisyphean homilectic of unschooling. With a smile,He’d endeavor to unscrew the inscrutable with me.
At LIFE is Good near Portland or San Diego’s Good Vibrations,We’d deconstruct the meaning of meaning
Over breakfast, in passing, or with the bar’s nectarous libations,‘til our families for sleep would be keening.
It was Brad and Lucretia and then there came Lena,But before that sweet sprite, there was John.
A family so sweet, they would make you a dreamer,But then quicker than Huginn, Brad was gone.
No hug for my corpus. No dialectic for my mind. For my dolorous soul, there’s no balm.Lucretia, Lena, and John fill my head.
So many friends in so many places, so many souls feel the harm,‘tho’ alive in our memory, in fact, Brad is dead.
Vita brevis, memoria aeterna. Life is short but memory is forever.Eheu! Eheu! Oh so young, far too young.
But our memories of him will fade never.And for now, my song for Bradley is sung.
Bradley Holcomb 14 May 2014
Frater, requiescas in pace.