I have a friend.
He hurts.
He lost his world.
Or so he thinks, he chased that world away.
Or did he run, he isn't sure.
His heart had gone astray.
But then his eyes were opened,
He struggled to return.
But by then, it seemed to late,
for others felt the spurn.
He begged for all forgiveness,
He laid it on the line,
He said, "I'll do it over,
I cannot lose what's mine."
But, they would not listen
And so his heart did crack.
Daily, he feels stretched upon
a giant, medieval rack.
His wounds are fresh and open.
His soul, the pulses bleed.
His cries are pain and anguish,
For respite, doth they plead.
I want to end his torture,
I long to ease his pain,
and when he catches on to this,
Perfection he does feign.
But oh, how I know better
the outcries of the heart,
I want nothing more to hug him
Make the bitterness depart.
Alas, it is in agony
That I watch him ache,
The sorrow and the tragedy
of life's long earned mistake.
I carry on some hope for him,
For in his heart it's true.
A stronger one beside himself,
someone who always knew,
Of strength, and ties and saviors,
of untold godly wealth,
of blessings and eternities,
of picture perfect health.
He will become the man he should
for all the world to see,
It will take time, my friend who hurts,
with all my heart, love, B.
