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A gardener of foliac prose, word eternally in bloom.
Beauty grown with every stroke of the pen.
endless genius, in perpetual rows.
A green thumb philosopher, born from wordy obscurity.
A mind sharper than the points he sets into play.

Yet, as each day becomes yesterday.
his mind steps closer and closer to disarray.
Memory in mimicry of those that came before.
The same cross that his father, and his father bore.
Madness of the grandest magnitude.
Despite all the visits to the wet stone, his dulling is still inevitable.
What once came so easily, is now congenitally invaluable.

Plenty of seeds to share yet fingers tied to the ware.
Thoughts that sprout aplenty, contrasted by action ever wilting.
Insanity brought about by both heredity, and the fading ability to relinquish his vocabulary.
As his literature becomes sparse, so too does his meaningful thoughts.

Implicitly immune from his father's ales.
spored by conduct that didn't seem would fail.
But betrayed like a thirst hungry rose, being struck down by ill-fated hail.
Fallen to fester on fates fallowed field, sullen for the nectar it could still spend to yield.
The loss of his love, through the loss of his mind.
A lifetime in practice, in a moment left behind.

Yet, As the sun sets on an ebbed intellect, and pedals dwindle past the count of singular. he is given a passing moment to reflect, as his consciousness is given a second to linger.

On a life spent well.

Gleefully given in pursuit of his craft. brimming with both a bit of both heaven and hell, but despite it all still finds reason enough to laugh.

His callous replaced with contentment.
His sadness relieved of resentment.
The pain of the encroaching ending, traded for the Joyice frolic of the journey.

Happy he had an hour in his heyday.
Happy he had a life worth losing, that he had a life worth missing.
Instead of finding relief in its finish.
Find its very existence as something to relish.

As the blanket of disillusion and disassociation lays to rest, a man freed from his odious pest.
He can gleefully give a gracious grin in the face, and in spite of the fate that brought his end.

That in the act of catching the abyss staring back, he can send a sneer that sends fear into astomatous' lack.
to give the harbinger of man's defeat a taste of his vulnerable grief.

To give a splinter to the puppeteer, as a reminder of man's chagrin. To pull back on the stings, so that god get a taste of man's feeling, and so man can get a taste of gods, subsequently.