RIP to my friend John Barlow
We met in creative writing class
He was Blake and Shelley
I was Coleridge and Keats
The vanity of poets in their youth
After class we’d go to the third floor
Of Memorial Hall and share a joint
Then we’d go for coffee or drinks
And discuss poetry all night
I saw him as a man and bird
With ever so copious a song
And profuse strains of art
As we danced with creativity
Mortality and beauty
Living only for those visions
That enrich vision and outlive us all