John Sterling

A biography of Sterling, was it fitting?
His life, not wondrous, fate not uplifting.
What he did, mere trifles, lost to time,
What he might have done, a forgotten chime.
Why a biography, when peace was sought?
Forced remembrance, a battle fought.
Misremembered, like Guy Fawkes' effigy,
His true self lost, for all to see.
A duty bound, in calmer season,
To clear his name, with reasoned treason.
A friendly soul, a shining light,
His character, both dark and bright.
Condemned for heresy, lauded for virtue,
His life's lesson, a reversed picture.
Not a skeptic, but a hasty believer,
No self-doubt plagued, the eager achiever.
A brilliant improvisatore, swift and bold,
Sheet lightning's flash, a story told.
Seeking religion, in a world of sham,
A victorious believer, not a dam.
He conquered doubt, with valiant might,
A teacher of hope, and guiding light.
Not a hater, but a brother true,
His essence perennial, for me and you.
Though greatness eluded, and fame took flight,
His small story, a beacon of light.
Human portraits, faithfully drawn,
A welcome sight, from dusk till dawn.
Monitions and moralities, in this small work,
A shadow of truth, where shadows lurk.