friends
you make them
you lose them
a few you make love to
some you fight
other friends are made
but few are the friends you give your
back to
or they to you
who know
you
or that deepest you youll allow because
the deepest you allow belongs to
you
days rise
one at a time they die
steal away
bits of your heart
but you gave themyou
parceled it out
so
when the last is gone
if you have
survived them
you have remnant sparks that keep
firing
like a quiet candle flame on the
stub of a once proud young taper
seems theres a last friend
who remembershelps keep the others alive
anif that survivor
is capable
he or she will inject them
into the minds of others who unwittingly will keep those friends
alive after theyve died
we steal scraps of our lives piece
them together like an illfashioned
comfortable quilt worn over our shoulders
they wear too
the Art of our lives become redpurpled black embers of a stubborn fire
occasionally burstingflickering warming
someones mind . . .
Tuesday, 21 11.
06
1438, Monday,
25 11. 24
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