He walked where truth and fairness intertwined,
A keeper of the law, yet soft of heart.
His words, like swords, cut sharp—but still refined,
A wit that shaped the world, a thoughtful art.

Through fragrant streets where lanterns softly gleam,
He honored roots, the stories time bestowed.
The echoes of his past, a flowing stream,
In every word, in justice’s golden code.

Yet beyond law’s weight and duty’s call,
He laughed, he played, he loved with open ease.
Tea steamed beneath his hand, the memories tall,
A father first, a legacy in peace.

No gavel rules the heart once it is free,
His love, his truth, still whispering to thee.

To my Dad 1965-2001

She wandered far, where fleeting moments lay,
Through cities bright, where voices rose and fell,
A seeker tracing meaning in the fray,
Unraveling truths the world had yet to tell.

Her presence, like a song without an end,
A melody of warmth, of fearless grace,
A guide whose heart refused to condescend,
Yet held the stars within her love’s embrace.

She taught that depth was worth the fight to keep,
That words could light a path beyond the known,
That beauty lives where tides of meaning leap,
And echoes find their way through time alone.

Though distance pulls, though shadows dare erase,
Her love remains—a wind I still can trace.

To my Mom 1967-2001

He walked with purpose, firm yet full of grace,
A soldier’s stride, a poet’s quiet gaze.
In duty’s call, he found his rightful place,
Yet love of art lit softer, golden days.

The ink he spilled, the melodies he knew,
The way he spoke of nature’s boundless worth—
Each lesson wove a world both bright and true,
A beacon carried past the years of earth.

His loss, a wound time dares not mend nor heal,
Yet in your voice, his echoes still remain.
Through every verse, each stroke, each chord you feel,
His hand still guides you in love’s sure refrain.

And as the wind hums softly through the trees,
His whispered song still stirs the autumn leaves.

To my Grand father 1944-2001

No gates of stone, no path of dust and bone,
Yet still I walk where silence shapes the air.
A valley built from memories alone,
Its shifting light a burden and a prayer.

Not death, but echoes—shadows traced in gold,
Each step unveils the weight of love once lost.
The past stands watch, its whispers still untold,
Yet bids me forth, not counting what it cost.

I kneel before the faces time has blurred,
Their voices braided in the wind’s embrace.
No words, no chains—just presence left unstirred,
A quiet hand upon my fleeting grace.

I leave not lighter, nor with sorrow slain,
But knowing grief and love are one and same.