Half of what he said was meaningless to the world.
He was too afraid to cry.
Outward appearances are only a screen.
Like the wise gurus
he tried so hard to understand.
Wise as an owl but as wild
as a tiger.
His voice lifted the spirits of a generation
but he is quiet now.
He was silenced the night when a fan went mad;
he didn’t know what was real anymore.
The loveable hateable witty Beatle
Who everyone thought to be forever,
cut down in the city he loved.
“Help me” were the last words to leave his lips
and help is what his heart had been screaming
all those years ago.
He taught us to believe in miracles
no matter what form.
He taught that all you need is love
and peace.
That hope was killed that cold December,
shot down by a viscous beast,
much too young to die.
Close your eyes.
Imagine a world without hatred.
Imagine a place without hunger, greed, or sadness.
Imagine the five-year-old son learning
his father won’t be coming home again.
Imagine.
The dream is over.
