This is a small poem written in memory of Richard Harris, the wonderful actor who portrayed Albus Dumbledore in the theatrical version of Harry Potter. The format is taken heavily from "The Legend" by Garrett Hongo. I hope you will take some time to read this poem and remember his legacy.
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In London, red and orange spots of color,
are falling softly,
And an actor has just finished reading his script,
He looks out the window of the hospital room,
His eyes not fully seeing,
blurred by age and disease,
Yet, for a time, he enjoys,
the delicate dance of autumn,
Last light of day reflected in his eyes.
There's an Elvish luminescence on his face,
a flash of faded crimson sun,
glows on the old bags beneath his eyes.
He is Irish, British, all at once,
and his decrepit body betrays a liveliness,
uncommon for his age.
He closes the heavy booklet of paper,
which collapses with a final thud,
and leans back,
falling against the polyester pillow,
as he closes his tired eyes,
for the final time.
His last performance.
Tonight, I do my homework,
a tired babble escapes my lips,
and I feel so distinct,
from the old actor for whom the
world will grieve,
I am ashamed.
Let the morning dawn remove his heavy burden.
Let the merciful gods cross the gateway of sky and earth,
And lift up his tired face.
IN MEMORY OF RICHARD HARRIS