He was a gift to you in your darkest moment,
why can't we understand,
how it feels to be alone in the sun
as it spills out into your hand,
and divides us into its spectrum,
into friends from a passing phase,
scattered out on our bending wave
as it feigns against the sight,
of our age creeping out to break us,
my ego laying on its side,
something real bursts into being,
we were all waving goodbye---
and the life that you choose,
off the road and out of sight,
towards a star that I am blind to.
And yet it pierces you so clear,
on the loneliest night,
you want to share it with the world,
or the people you love most of all,
and get close to one, one, someone, anyone,
because you are proud of what you have done.
At your desk you work so hard, far from home,
or with your son,
on the hospital bed, with your dead dad
talk to the grave like he's still here.
You need a friend to understand
the transition that we are in,
the sadness between plans,
on the paths we choose towards death.
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