When I was a young poet, a few years ago I had a mentor. His name was Malcolm. He was a nice guy he died a year ago and I miss him a lot. Malcolm was a great source of helping me writing and his memory will always be something special. Spending time with Malcolm is something that I will share. Malcolm was a poet, a friend a great romantic of the arts. His death brought life in my age of cynical approach of everything. He helped me believe that any one who had a disease could over come with fighting back.
