Tribute to Marlowe

Here is a piece by the late and great Tom Bradbury, a wonderful piece that I love very much. This poem I wrote below is wholly inspired by it.

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Think of a giant willow, bent and ashen,

By a soft, twinkling stream.

The twisted trunk.

The golden, green leaves flowing in the fall wind and turning all yellow and orange in the reddish, shadowy sun.

I imagine that he’s there, with Marlow(e) with an ‘e’… the strange boy whose name meant driftwood.

His story was in black and white,

Yet it spoke to you and I,

In so many different ways and tones,

And the colors he created with his shadow play and

Dreamscapes,

Well, we will never see those magical colors ever again—

Except in between the intricate weaving of Tom’s words.

I fear that his heart was sent adrift,

Like that driftwood,

Like his dear Marlowe,

But alas, we all know through his story,

We all keep it alive and share it,

We dream it up for him,

And we create our vision through his

Forgiving, dreaming, candid

And sincere manner,

Even if it seemed a bit brash,

We all loved him for saying what needed to be said.

We’ll never forget you, Tom,

None of us.

And through Marlowe, he has not been sent adrift,

Merely on a different voyage,

A scenic walk through the park,

A quiet bit of introspection near an old stream,

“Doors not being made of wood,

keys not being made of metal,”

As he wrote,

As he opened all the doors for all of us.

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Rest In Peace my friend. Please look at his profile and support his work further, to always keep him alive.