the gift of friendship

she said
‘sometimes the greatest assault
is the gift of friendship
to one whom is unaccustomed to trust’

i could see that she had been bitten
by the way she hid the scar

she said
‘trust cannot be given
it cannot be earned
in fact i believe it is a myth
like love
and honor’

i watched
as she turned to face a big picture window
watched her shoulders heave
as she tried not crying
watched without speaking the words

i watched
as the world turned in its silent bearings
watched as day followed night
followed day
followed night. . .

i patted the pocket over my heart
where i used to keep the cigarettes
and i swore
with my hand over my heart
i swore in words i do not understand

i would have reached to touch her back
if i had
had a hand

i would have whispered
the soft whispers of reassurance
if i had
had a mouth

i would have
somehow made sense of all this

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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