To a Friend, Last Seen Ten Years Ago, In Memoriam

Each year, I find less in the memory
That I contemplate beneath your tree.
I am not who I promised I'd be.
It took nine years to learn what you taught me
In one day: we are all rare and brittle,
Polished and stained , lacquer chipping a little;
That identity is merely a token,
To stand in for our deeds and the words we have spoken,
and that we are destined, made to be broken;
By life I'm cracked, by instinct ruled,
My stone heart yearns for sculptor's tools.
With those last lessons, you were gone,
and I am the fool who ever hangs on,
Bloody and sore for persisting so long.
I abuse myself, but the greater wrong
Would be to loose your memory, forget
Who you were, and worst of all, let
The time and nature of your end be a stain
Upon a fruitful friendship fraught with gain.
While it's true that I, surprised at you, have rather dropped the ball,
So that in nine years your tree has grown so much, and I have not at all,
Unless you were revived, I would not go without
Your memory, the missing, and the doubt.
Though it's not for my sake, and it's no good to you,
I will always remember. What else can I do?