For Chas (R.I.P)

 

( for a dear old friend)

In Golden days,
he put a silver spoon on the table,
left sweetness on a rizla paper,
once when beaten, he opened the door,
a hundred hours later, having passed eternity,
he released me gently back into the world,
left no traces of tears or fear,
over the years, out of nowhere,
he would always return,
in richness bought unprescribed love,
together we followed the roads of possibility,
now I remember all the good times,
and try real hard not to be sad,
will miss the beauty of his familiar face,
as the wind blows, I will hear his breath.