Ten twenty-nine,

October twenty-ninth, he passes.

My good friend,

The one I knew and held dear,

My friend, my beloved friend,

The one that I played cards with while we waiting,

Waiting for the performances, 

That we somewhat dreaded,

The one that conducted,

Instructed,

And led. 

He wanted to be a teacher,

But he wasn’t able to.

Only he taught me so much.

Ten Twenty-nine,

October twenty-ninth, he passed,

It was a cold, cloudless day.

I sat in quiet thought,

How could this happen?

Are they even sure it’s him?

Only, bitter reality settled,

How was I supposed to tell his best friend, my sister?

How were we supposed to move past this?

Ten twenty-nine,

October twenty-ninth,

The day I live in quiet dismay.