Happy Saint Patrick's Day, Adam. Be at peace.

I cannot write a fitting epitaph
For you, my friend; I fear that I would not
Do justice to the sad and lonely path
That culminated in a single shot.
No one else could share the load you bore,
No one could drive the demons from your mind
Because you never let us past the door
Where all the secret monsters were confined.
So what's to say, my friend? I wish I knew
The words to use so that I could explain
The torture that no comfort could undo,
The only way you had to end the pain.

Instead, I seek a passage underground
Like Orpheus, on the road of endless night
To Hades, nightmare figures all around
Consumed by flame and shadow's hellish might.
And soon I reach the wall of ancient clay,
Those bricks you fought with fists of dust and ash
But never broke, and never found what lay
Beyond the wall, on that forgotten path.
And here I'll leave those things I have of yours
To mark this spot--a shrine, I guess you'd say.
For when I think of you, I think of doors,
The walls we build to lock ourselves away.
But now I have to let this heartache go,
And say farewell from where I am below:
"This isn't much--and yet I've done my best;
I hope your final journey brought you rest."