Singing was his passion and his voice was a melody

Like the feel between the velvet sheets against the silken skin

His life was a song just the way it was meant to be
He forged himself to be clever as the weak didn’t survive

He was born for the quill as he’d seen it create destiny

He had witnessed paper carrying realms and ink dissolving hearts in a mystery

He was just so kind and cared for every soul

His heart was a heavenly spark which shone its light on all.

He wrote tales that someday were meant to be heard

He held the quill in his hand and knew the power of a word

He was so extreme and he was born to fly

Ever so tender touched heartstrings of blue angles