way over yonder
and on street corners
close to our homes
you'll find penned reasons
to hold me in contempt;
even harm me.
so in our sour times
friendship is counted twice
when held through
screams of scorn
and bellowed bigotry,
our silence speaks.
it proves its worth
against the tales and poetry
how could it not,
with roots in love,
there's proof enough;
it was destined to succeed
oddities and rarities that were shared ordinarily
with a golden soul
beneath golden suns
and our typical grey
that plagues a little less,
with solitary thought lent to another
this unfamiliar territory
chanced upon by a traveller
with a heart that warmed
through a spring that never came
and a summer that shone
and burned time past
laughter that would
light flames under January's snowflakes
and company that would
remain after parting,
whither sorrow to ash
and turn me to gratitude
for fortunes upturned
in the mystery of patterns
spelled by God
that lay in paths tread
by those who've met before;
called friends by some.
