I am weeping for you, old comrade,
As much for battles won as lost
For friendships ended over principles
The saddened victors living on and on.
I’d like to think of you in some leftist Valhalla
Celebrating endlessly, a hip chick on each arm,
But we all know how irrational that is.
Anyway, your spirit doesn’t need an afterlife.
Every one of us holds a piece of you,
Laugh, memory, idea, note, picture or scar.
We are way too many for you to be forgotten;
A legion of swirling infinite thoughts about you.
God, what an appetite for life, and energy,
If I had one fifth of yours I’d be famous, too.
Was it you who invented Too Much Information?
Did the number of your pages reach one million?
There is a lot in your life to be envious about
Or, for some, jealous. I prefer to think of your mind;
The clarity of it; the ability to distinguish details
From the essential, and to move forward based on that.
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