Where is The Friend, when my friends surround me?
It can seem he flees my side.
Though perhaps it is I, with blinkered eyes
Who denies Him right attention
My heart tires against assuming mind
So stung by wash of fate
So drawn up in chalk-lines on the social slate
Black and white dust in forlorn debate.
Why the overwhelm?
I wonder often, if it’s for me
This realm
Though it is me
This space
This place
This situational trial.
Where is there to run, after all?
Many places
But none are home
Here is home
And each new moment
A lesson to be learnt.
Stop and see
And taste what’s sour
Know the dirt that births the flower
There is The Friend
In every friend
Diffused
But not departed
Kester Reid 