I wrote this a while ago, about a dear friend of mine. I'm not sure if it still applies to them, but I like to look back on my past writings of old friends, and see how they've changed. I know I have.
Your shortness of breath has always stood out to me-
When it's heard, I think of the fall, black and whites-
A rasp that come from deep within your heavy lungs
As if something is trying to get itself out, it's been trapped for years-
And maybe, maybe that is just what it is...
Your will, navigating through life, searching for its right path-
Waiting for the perfect time to release itself from down under
Into the clean, fresh air that we call what will be-
I want that for you-
And your warm skin, soft from river trips and sun baths-
Each limb waving like branches in its favorite storm
As I watched you move with the drum, song, sound
And it moved us to a greater sense of inner mysteries
Do you still think of me? Am I a positive memory?
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