REST NOW WITTY
In the heart of our gathering, we honor a spirit so bright,
Witty, a dreamer, who saw the world in its light.
His words flowed like a river, sometimes lost in a mumble's haze,
Yet his thoughts soared like eagles, in swift, intricate arrays.
An artist of the soul, he sketched a woman's grace,
A thousand attempts he made, but never found her face.
"I can't capture perfection," he'd sigh and then begin,
A testament to his spirit, unyielding, refusing to give in.
He sought to master the strings, like Picasso with his brush,
Or Vincent van Gogh, whose "Starry Night" does blush.
He admired Michelangelo, who carved the stone with might,
In their shadows, Witty dreamed, under the same moonlight.
His poems, in his tongue, sang of moonlit nights,
Of love declared in plazas, of heart's purest delights.
A life of hurdles and strife, yet lived with such grace,
A vibrant tapestry of colors, his existence did trace.
He wept, unafraid, when pain pierced his heart,
A man who faced consequences, willing to restart.
In Witty's story, Shakespeare would find a friend so dear,
A narrative of love, loss, and dreams that held him near.
In the end you died broken and hopeless, but now you are free, Although, Witty, you are part of me.
Together, in this moment, we bury the author of this elegy,
In a place known only by you and me.
Your spirit lives on, forever free.
andulkaphoto
romaincrisis
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
discoholicmusic