I have been remembering my old friend John.

John, in Days Gone Far Away

This John seemed like some harsh philosopher
when I first met him hiking home in sixty-nine.
In those early days, I rarely saw him smile.
But then came days when his whole head reddened
as he laughed so hard that tears flew each way.
We grew and traveled in different places as time grew slippery,
and days darkened and shortened,
and new commentators caught our ears
and taught us new ways.
Philosophies changed, perspectives grew, and
Paths home lengthened as brush scattered over the way,
and John told his stories, and crafted his songs,
and journaled his way home, and home afar journeyed.
Mostly I think back to days long gone,
and hair days long, and paths home simple,
and recall the days we chatted away
and said goodnight, and farewell friend.

Histories read and histories written, history rewritten and imagined again,
We are still brash youth, fiery friends,
gentle when we care to be,
and lost across the chasm of years,
Death not winning,
memories held firm.

(c) Tom Bolton, Janesville, November 28, 2012