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Stuart Robertson - Photographer
Dear john
John’s gone
Loss to many of us lost
No longer an island
Midst the babbling waves
Tears shed for him
(and part of ourselves)
Fall, fall throughout
The procession of pale ghosts
Who lack either wit or wisdom
Frightened of their own reflections
Right badge pinned on straight?
Honest John
Father John (uncle at the very least)
Revealed a part of us
Never known to be missing
Made the poor wealthy
No need for glossy commodity
John’s gone
Bells name your name
Or a dark bird’s piece of land
Discordant perhaps
Who’s to say what form beauty takes?
You played the way by heart
Weep for what’s no more
Hear the tears of
Genuine sorrow
Though your legacy
Finds joy in unlikely places.
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