a ragamuffin

He was older than I
by many years
and from another faith
but his lips poured truth 
in abundance.

he called himself
a "Ragamuffin"
and i thought the description apt.

if Brendan wrote it I read it.

Brendan hobbled on unsteady legs
made weaker by alcohol.
those who loved Brendan
loved him all the more for it.

It seemed he faded
before our uncomprehending eyes.
His addiction took him
and he was no more.

I am rereading what he left us.
not even full grain alcohol
can blot the truths he poured forth
like sweet benediction.

every man's passing
ought give us clearer perception.
Brendan's addiction made me wonder
what people will say of me when I go.

Perhaps:
he was a good writer, but...
he was a good teacher, but...
he was a wonderful companion, but...

The greatest truth Brendan left me is that 
I too, am a ragamuffin.