Carl Stevens' Journal: A Poem For Mark Katic
When cold tears fall from a clear blue sky
maybe then I could tell you why
our friend, Mark Katic, had to die.
His laughter, full, could fill a room.
His eyes as bright as the sun at noon.
Our friend, Mark Katic, died too soon.
Cancer called and though he tried,
the days succumbed, the hours sighed.
The minutes paused, and the seconds cried.
I hope I keep the things he taught,
his kindness, strength, the way he thought.
The way he loved this life and fought.
He loved the news, he loved to learn.
He loved the flame of a life that burned
with undying embers, a constant yearn.
I can hear his voice on Hereford Street.
That part of the Marathon was his beat.
That memory is ours to keep.
So let's keep memory, that piece of Mark,
that makes us better, that constant spark
that defined that man, right from the start.
And though he's gone, and the blue sky cries,
and everyone who knew him sighs,
there's a part of him that never dies.
When you go some place you never dared,
when you say to a stranger, "My friend, I care."
Then that's a part of Mark right there.
He's the strength in our aching feet
as we turn the corner toward Boylston Street.
We'll run, my friend, while you rest in peace.
Listen to Carl Stevens' Poem
