I walk through life oblivious,
Though I strain my eyes to see,
Wander half my paths insensate,
Though I yearn this not to be,
And then,
Again.
A contact made by fleeting chance,
A new old kinship wild, free,
Wander down a path together,
And I yearn for this to be,
And then,
Again.
A whispered word, a treasured friend,
Once more I have caused pain,
I can't repent, I will not change,
Though I wish them to be free,
How I yearn for that to be.
Posted with permission of those to whom it is written. *Hug*
I write better from pathos than joy and this has been weighing on me, though I know you have told me it should not. I hope that this poem lets those that read it take a glimpse at what your friendhsip means to me.