You didn’t have to die, Philip Seymour

Before even the night drew closer,

You walked into your sleep, deeper

You woke up, in a wormhole, the point of no return,

An alien place, you know now, it is no more Greenwich Village.

Friends are still waiting, saddened faced,

Bewildered, we are heart broken,

Hoping for a miracle to happen.

That Master unlocks the door,

With a creepy smile and gusto, Lancaster Dodd pops in.

I feel to open my mouth, cry my lungs out loud

Does it bother you anymore? I guess not

You didn’t have to die; it’s too early, Philip Seymour.

Regardless, have fun there, wherever, in a boogie night,

Can you do that without us, Mr. Truman Capote? I doubt that, I might.

Author's Notes/Comments:

I wrote this poem when Philip Seymour died. I was very sad and taken away on his untimely death. I am sharing the poem here.

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