Epitaph for a Friend

Let it be said for him
Whose spirit lived
In this poor mortal clay
That even at his best
He never found his way,
Chased some elusive goal,
Drifted without purpose
And aimless was his soul,
While others envied
His good life,
Devoted children,
A loving wife,
He seemed to live in style,
But to his inner self
His life
Was not worthwhile...

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2007 Alfred Charasz