So many friends
with you to the end
and I suppose I am happy
they stand with you
and you with them.

As it was and is, through tears
without a sound I offer up
my thanks for all of them and,
always last, remember when
as it shall be in the end
I knew what it was
to be a friend
and not denied
such a simple gift
again and again.

Perhaps you are well aware
and know what it is you do.
Perhaps you would say to me,
"Nothing has anything to do with you."
The world moves on and still

No one stands with me.
All say they are not free,
as you did once, to give
such a gift of light to me.
Blood of my blood, heart
of my heart, song of my soul.
It matters not, the lot of them
scatter, citing all the reasons why.

I grew accustomed to the ache.
Now so little can take me
back to the breach birth of this ife
and the slice of the knife.
And when your words do, they carry me
across the seas of time
to a world where you
whisper to me on the wind
and dare to call me friend. 

As for me, it is the same,
I suppose, as it ever was.
For even in the other world
so much spilled out... Lost.
I thank my God even when
I feel I cannot breathe or dare
to dream of beginning again 
to live another day.

So many friends wait for me there
but all has dimmed and I cannot see.
Though I carry on, in truth I do not believe
I will see it through and find the grace
to press on toward the goal.
Why was it that he took hold of you?
I try to forget what lies behind
and press on but find myself
ever awaiting transformation
and revelation.

Or maybe it is nothing.
But everything I lost
when you did not find in me
a friend says otherwise.
I know the friend that I have been
to you and many you have loved.
And I know one day it will be
on Earth as it is above.

Rest now. All is well,
my friend, my friend...