my dear old friend
what end has come
by no means just
to live this dream
from which your eyes cannot awaken
who dares to rob this vacant hell
from one so true
we knew so well
who’s laugh was always our’s to share
by which i mean “our” family
you had scrapped your way
inside hearts sworn rigid without erring
a friend of genuine regard
protector of my sisters’ honor
our mister Jesse “Lame” Stamper
my brother time forgot to spare
such vital energy once coursing
through the veins as though my own
but yours was rife with staunch resolve
and none have since dared
prove such courage
surging taller than what heights
a man could bear to fall
cowardice lurks veiled inside
all stations of men ever known
no dignity near consequent
that could outshine your valor
all that mattered shone inside
the love for those you held
years have sunken silten seabed
whence we cried out “punk is dead!”
to myself, i have lied
just to say those words
and tears not shed
on that day, when first i learned
of darkness, that could not be heard
it struck me like a sun combusting
fulgurant in its static pulse
6 years ever as my senior
trapped in surpassing each one
tripped up in a past illusion
somehow ripped right from the stars
Jesse, you are with us always
like the ink that left its mark
love etched into the flesh forever
lives on within our minds and hearts
Max, or Not 