From friends from before, to friends I’ve never met…
Like playing cards they are, when the deck is shuffled
Same cards, different cards,
Or a mix of both.
From friends who have forgotten me, to friends whom I met once and still know my name…
Those who have lost me to the sands of time,
It was fun while it lasted
To those who remember me,
Perhaps there is more to us than I thought.
From friends who tell me everything, to those who tell me nothing…
True was the one who said knowledge is power,
Truer still the one who said ignorance is bliss.
From friends who are there, to those who are not…
To The Hero With No Fear and The Negotiator,
To Bauer and O’Brian,
Is there not one who will be with me until the end?
From friends who are rivals, to friends who loathe the very sight of me…
Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, they say.
From friends I “love”, to friends I wish I could love…
It seems it is always that the fruit
Has been forbidden
Or That the fruit
Has been taken
But never is it the fruit
For me; For they are the cruelest of all
Know they not the pain I suffer, to see and not
Touch? To do nothing but want?
And yet, they expect the best of me, with nothing
In return. If only they knew
How much longer must I wait to have a fruit
Of my own? Is it my cowardice that dooms me
To loneliness? Or is it that the fruit
Prefers me not? But if that is so
What do they expect? I cannot
Be something I am not…
When will one pick me to be eaten?
I’ve been told “You don’t live on a mountain.”
And to that, I say, “The mountain is better.”
For social drama, that terrible beast, is non-existent
When only oneself is present.
Not to be arrogant or prideful, but I miss the days
When it was I and I alone.
For a green teacher once said, “Together, one achieves more.”
And to that, I said, “Where was together when I truly needed it?”
The Lord was said to say, “I help those who help themselves”
And to that, I say, “Help me now, for I no longer can.”
For I prefer myself, and myself alone
As socialism is for those who cannot support themselves.
Why do I waste my time caring for those who care not for me?
Why do I lust for those who do not care for me?
Why do I have friends? Fickle beasts they are
Useful for nothing more than amusement.
But the irony is grand- longing to be married
But unwilling to be friends…
I am doomed to be left old, and alone
What I’ve always wanted, what I’ve never wanted
For experiences themselves don’t really change
But those who you experience it with change, indeed.
The waters of friendship are murky- beware of its depths!