Nothing explains this silence,
and the words that are said in between.
In some passive act of defiance,
the words friend is both used and abused.
Yes, I know, happier days I've seen,
when things were less confused.
Mine is now that silent prison,
where I do not speak the words in me.
In our promises made and given,
something was lost, something forgotten.
Now I can only wonder at what I see,
as I look at this new day begotten.
Tell me now that I'm not lost,
that I'll still find some road back to you.
I would still be yours at any cost,
you should know this and so much more.
My only joy is in everything you do,
wishing it were as it was before.
Please say I'm some silly fool,
who worries too often over everything.
Say I've not broken every rule,
or ever given you any cause to doubt me.
I'm yours in all tomorrow may bring,
that which makes the best of me.
Brian Francis Hudon
January 3, 2017