I recently learned that someone I knew from high school died not too long ago. We used to be friends, hung out in some of the same circles, and he was one hell of a guy. He had wisdom I was too scarred to understand at the time, but years later, I understand what he meant. In those years, he went to school, got a wife and kids, and was generally successful. I, on the other hand, became a bit of a recluse and worked. I never allowed myself a chance to see the man he became, but by all accounts, he was still one hell of a guy, a great dad, and a good husband, and I would've been proud to know who he became, and it is with great shame that I admit that I didn't at least try to stay in touch. He died far too young, and had too much promise left unfulfilled. In his memory, I am posting a poem by John Donne.
"Death Be Not Proud" by John Donne
"Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee;
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou'art slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie,' or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then they stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die."
My deepest condolences are with his family and friends.