A December Moon

A December moon
Will always remind me of his face.
Full and natural,
Deep in contemplation, sometimes sad.
Only photos now exist,
The photos will age, he, forever young.
Many times alone,
Even in a room filled with people.
Full on internal chatter,
Somewhat ambiguous, and hovering.
All that drew near,
Taken in by his brilliance.
At arm’s length,
Seemed to be his comfort space.
Those that he loved the most,
Often brought closer,
And also kept at a further distance.
A paradox existence.
We could not understand,
The world in which he thought.
Some things so simple to him,
But complicated beyond our grasp.
Some things so easy for us,
Difficult for his brilliant mind.
A paradox existence.
A December moon rises higher,
The air is crisp and clean from the cold.
Now there is quiet,
Quiet is for the thinkers.
A December moon,
Will always remind me of his face,
Full and natural,
Deep in thoughts, no longer sad.