Chris

Chris's beliefs, were his own It's true he worshiped Worshiped well. But no one God, No one idol. With a hand cupped over a ear He preached to his disciples, Conveyed his love of words. He passed on his knowledge, In the only way he could. His faith was in people And their ability to write. Heaven's book was opened As followers saw the light. I, like my teacher, Am a man of little religious faith Skeptical about the after-life. So why are my feelings strange Each time I write? Like a hand guiding mine over pages, Images each time I read. I see a smiling face, Hear a Challis joke. Encouraged by words that are kind. I am haunted by memories. This I don't mind. Like the lion who is king of the jungle, Chris Challis was one of a kind. Dedicated to a tutor at a night writing school. He died in around 1997 after a fall at home aged 50. Written shortly after his death. I have just added one line in the first part and one word in the second.