African Tools of Death.

For Sam:

You are an enigma.

Enigmatic to my drab eye,

you spark against my darkened sky,

with you, comes the mental hum,

you loan me peace of mind,

no love letters or epic songs,

might ever rightfully define,

or accurately emphasize,

how you’re a stationary prize,

that hangs higher than all else,

higher than you likely realize,

I just can’t help myself,

from warming in your light,

resigning my heart, outright,

to the magic and the might,

you’ll never fully perceive,

the grip you maintain on me,

You are a beam of light.

Lightning bolts that strike,

cutting sharp as knives,

through life’s dark scenery,

You are full of surprises.

From the depths of such rebellion,

and what’s left of the little Hellion,

your character  arises,

to shine so singularly,

so winningly, impressively, eternally,

you’ve yet to fail the friend in me,

and so…respectfully and true,

thoughts especially of you,

that words might do

some kind of justice to.