John

He spoke,
Letters that flew
From page to mouth.
He was never quiet,
Though never unbearably loud.
He would simply sit,
At the foot of the bed
And whisper phases I never
Took the time to understand.
He was a precious,
Wonderful man.
He was a new breed,
A soul that couldn’t be contained,
No matter how much hurt
Or pain.

I saw him speak,
I saw his body become frail
And weak.
I saw the life,
I witnessed the death
And even then, he was still, at his best.

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