An Ode to Friendship
Poem
So will that photo always change
To hopes you often rearrange
Framed unstead’ly on the wall
As if it held no gold at all?
Or was it simply pre-ordained
To sit so crooked, weather-stained
Through storms of tears and innocence,
Draughts of thought and common sense?
Maybe its the sun to blame
That slowly washed away their fame
Changing faces ‘fore your eyes
To crumpled, dried-out, photo’d guys
But I believe you’ve something more
Than waiting for weather to poor
A mind that speaks, a heart that leaks
Beating for the goal each seeks
So will that photo always change
To hopes you often rearrange?
Maybe so, as we’ve both seen
Pasts grew us old, yet kept us green
As photo follows, photo peaks
The frame still holds them, brave yet bleak
Swinging like a pendulum
To center it will one day come
As time meanders quietly
No one will touch that frame, you see
For you procured it, placed it, hued it
Only your hand may center-glue it
As folks walk by, I’ll stay and try
To boost you when you fall awry
Watching you work laboriously
Feeling your toil vicariously
So will that photo always change
To hopes you often rearrange?
With time I’ve seen its possible
For now I’ve doubts in heart and soul
I’m limited in strength and thought
To give you what you haven’t got
For my frame, too, is tarnished, mamed
By things unheard, best left un-named
Though photos few, my frame has graced
They were horridly hued, mis-haply effaced
Therefore I feel your seethe and sorrow
For past’s purity there’s never tomorrow
I understand the task on stand
Is not simply fixed with hammer in hand
For unhinging what is now ingrained
Could forever fissure your photo and frame
So will you let that photo change
To hopes you often rearrange?
Just note that hope’s a fickle thing
Commitment will win you the ring
Let’s keep that photo proudly framed
In hopes you’ve grounded, founded, named
But this, I know, is not what you’d hear
After the storms you’ve faced year upon year
It’s my ideal, my thought and my feel
The photo that my frame might hold once it’s sealed
Yours might be of a different sort
But never in truth will it fall short
Its intricacies I’ll never know
But distantly I admire their show
Your brass and your exquisite class
Make for a rare piece unknown en mass
more by A. M. LAINE
