Old Friends

Old friends restoring parts of me

Holding the glowing stones of memory

Who I was, who I could be

Bringing kindling to gently warm me

Cups full of my blood, to pour to my lips

And let my heart pump boldly again

Remembering how I used to be

In those fangled days of innocence

Beneath the clinging ivy of nature

Leaving the lonely path home

To a place the dark cannot reach

Nor trickle through the ring of love

Hovering like a bright sphere around me

Fighters against the grey machine

Brandishing banners of truth and light

Forged of the same ideas as me

Seers of the forces know the great enemy

Words in the book of an anguished life

Turned by eager young hands on cold nights

As multi-coloured lights dance on the ceiling

Remembering the old games we used to play

And knew so well, laughing

At some obscure node of consciousness

Only we share, and so prize the more dearly

Egoless sharing and little care for money

Or the roof and walls called property

Like mice in a nest climbing over each other

Old friends, carry my shield and sword

Squires in a saga, greying my brow

Heeding what little wisdom I speak

Admiring the things I built, and forgot

Mirrors framed in gold, gem-encrusted

Beautiful things of the earth

Who will hold my left hand when I lie

Upon my final place, to smile and then die.

 

 

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