I sing the tale of a man, long vanished from our view, A Homo sapiens of Earth’s late twentieth-century hue. In a medium Galaxy by the Great Attractor swung, A free spirit he was, of an Uncarved Tao block sprung.

Unchiseled, undisciplined, yet with will not bent nor broken, From rancher’s daughter and farmer’s son, so the lineage was spoken. A father, an uncle, a brother, a spouse, his roles diverse, Yet in kinship’s embrace, his wealth found its endless verse.

In years for some he wore the cloak of age; to others, youth did cling, A perfect example of imperfection, in the world’s unforgiving ring. His form but a shifting landscape, an enigma to behold, Muscular, though burdened with flesh, and contradictions manifold.

His health a complex tapestry; woven in habits strange and rare, Forsaking coffee, beer for herbal brews and juices fair. In exercise he found his solace, on Sole Elliptical and walk, Lifting weights in silent ponder, no idle boasts in talk.

His mind forever restless, ever reaching toward the unknown, Discontented with humanity’s dullness, in societal norms overgrown. Lover of Socrates and Descartes, envious of DaVinci’s touch, He cherished the gifts of Newton, Einstein, their minds he honored much.

In tongues diverse he found his voice: Spanish, Hebrew, Greek, A Latin pedagogue, and in Russian’s cipher, mysteries to seek. In used bookstores, he sought foreign words, in ancient scripts confined, The Bible’s native tongues he knew, in Gregorian chants his soul aligned.

A walking paradox, his passions wove an intricate design, Astrology beside astronomy, in sacred texts and sciences divine. In grimoires and theories, both he found a similar pull, His spirit immortal, yet unbound by dogmatic rule.

In La Sombra del Cerro de Los Lunas, his evenings quietly passed, By dawn, in technology’s pursuit, his attention steadfast. With Linux and scripting, he sought solutions true and fine, Amidst balloons and distant peaks, he dwelt, where heavens and earth align.

Sushi or tikka masala, his palate knew no bounds, With family and friends, in music’s universal sounds. He sought the good in genre’s midst, from opera to heavy beat, In Ice Cube and the Chili Peppers, his eclectic tastes did meet.

In Farnham’s Freehold moonlight, a libertarian he did stand, Against the frauds of our age: taxation, centralization, throughout the land. He knew the thieves had names, the system’s ills were rife, Yet, for every stolen dollar, he treasured the simpler life.

To wife, to sons, to daughter, his love unflinchingly true, In humanity’s darkest visage, still, optimism anew. For fame or fortune, he did not pine; his wealth in love he’d measure, A man of contradictions, of sorrows, but above all—of treasures.