Rolling through life's night is
friendship's grain train,
A mile long, unstopping, unchanging,
In shadow, barely visible to passersby,
Not exciting, but unwavering in form.
Romance is a mere stick laid on the
tracks,
Its potential only to derail and be
destroyed.
As a writer in a house-world built of
paper and ink
On a shaky foundation of my diminishing
mental capacity,
I am thankful that friendship has
direction.
It is unyielding, solid, uniform,
there.
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