A poem for a friend

If I could tell you of a man, who gave too much and received too little.

Who found a way to keep giving even when the world fell apart.

Who loved a girl that just like him; had lost their way.

Yet they found each other anyway.



We cried on quiet nights, in our garden of dead roses.

Where he found sympathy for all demons except his own.

I suppose…the price of beauty is that it *must* shine.

Around the very darkness it creates.



If only I could show you why; why you feel so alone.

You my dear prince, were not made for this Earth.

After all…stars are made for the sky.