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In memoriam of my friend, Robert Matson (1985-2007)



You spoke of Voltaire, Locke, Robespierre, Monterrey,
Obvious in reiteration, literary persuasion, economics, linguistics, so you say,

The problems of society and the established oligarchy,
the news media, the plethora of racial set backs, the ignorance of the proletariat,
The greed of the green capitalists, the hypocrisy of the politicians,
Who promise the world, proclaim righteousness, but whose actions are~ Pharisaical.

Dreams of longevity, dreams of worldly pursuits, aspirations of conquest,
Dreams to meet up, dreams to portray, love to acquire, ladies to court,

Songs that have yet to be sung, songs that have been half written, a word in lyre,
Where are you know? Who shall complete this mandate?

Friends filled with love, family in testament to your life,
deprived of a persona.
Where are you know?

You left us as you came into the world.
Spontaneous.

You came to my life as a friend, the example of the typical "Left-Winged Liberal"
You know I used to call you that.
For sure, you used to call me "Conservative Neo-Con"
We laughed, we dined, we chatted, we discussed, we became friends.
We became Brothers
That in the process of life, the experience of new and old,
I shall never, never, meet another like you.
You who brought to me the understanding of the other side of the ball game,
you who brought to me the appreciation for the classics,
That, though you are gone, shall never leave me. ever.
Until life's last breath passes from my own body, it shall not leave me.
For you have changed your friends, forever.
In positive light, my dear Robert. In positive light.

Shall I go on with this?
Yes I shall.

Shall I remember our hundreds of discussions?
Sure, for the most part.

But what saddens me the most, my dear Robert Matson,
is that we put off so many of our conversations,
so many,
and trusted that time should allow us to complete them when alotted,
but the truth, my dear friend,
is that those conversations that were 'stacked' in the book shelf,
shall always remain, just that.
"Stacked"

It is preserved.
Left untouched.
Memory-ridden.

Until one day, my dear friend and brother,
that thou woudst honor me with continuation of our so many conversations,
in the land of Christ Jesus.
To where in his mansion, for sure, I know, you live now.
Reserve me a place in Christ's mansion, my friend.
Reserve me a place.

I do mourn you.
I do miss you.
More than you could ever know.



Yours,
Albrando "Al"
 

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