Dear Ian, a mere ghost
Of what used to be a friend,
To you I dedicate this toast,
For your friends you did defend.
Those you barely knew
Were still protected by your fury,
You never went where the wind blew,
Never blindly agreed with the jury.
One's blind without you
Serving as a protective shield
- too much light, one has no clue,
One's running circles in a cornfield.
YOU ARE READING
A phone book
PoetryA loose continuation of A Few Hysterical Words, this time focused on character descriptions.