Hunter S. Thompson Memorium/A Poem

Hunter S. Thompson Memorium

A poem I wrote in remembrance of HST:

A moment
of profound confusion
and a burst
of gunpowdered fury
Brought down a mind much stronger than this.
Who would've known?
Who could've known?
Did he love us and miss us so much
he just couldn't, couldn't live?
Or did he despair and remember
a different time... another age...
Was he the last, the left behind,
the loneliest author?
What was the final thought
that convinced the Strongman to
release his hold and let go the
gates?
Some say he lived long enough
to watch all he'd touched,
he'd seen, he'd believed in, he'd known,
be rivened to separate threads
by Monster America Today.
A heartbeat dropped,
a connection yanked,
and what he knew applied no more.
No one cared anymore.
Others think, "mental note:
the Fiend knows too much."

I think, I will miss you,
you scurvy bastard.