Finally, a poem that ISN'T about Charlie Chaplin or the "Fallacies" guy! I haven't been this pleased with something that I've written since "Hollywoodland", and I hope whoever reads this feels the same way!

In decades and years, he is sacred,

Consistently fantastic and frightening,

Incandescent, vivid, and gleaming

When snapshots and letters are fading.


His wisdom, his knowledge, his foresight

Force smiles when I'm tired of smiling,

Ignore space between moods and emotions,

Are impervious to miles and inches.


Woven between sinners and saviors,

He stays without wondering or wavering.

Unaffected by hours and minutes,

He smirks and he sighs and says nothing.


To ears that are used to rewriting,

Silence is curious and comforting,

As adjustments and hasty revisions

Come quickly in pounds and in ounces.


Among diligent dodgers and dancers,

He patiently sits and he anchors.

In love, in hate, in indifference,

He is unchanged.