Old Friend

In a poem half-written,
in a pressed posy petal
in a song that once was,
in a hand-painted kettle

My memory, my friend
ever faithful and true
lives in all things I see,
in all things I do.

Often takes liberties
arriving unpredicted,
greeting me as I greet the morning
or drifting to sleep, already in bed

Demanding to be heard
to sing the same songs
to relive the days of yore
to cry o’er the wrongs.

My memory, old friend
lives in all things I see
With it my days begin
and end; it lives in me.

For A Friend.

Holding all answers there are to find.
You’re the lake you’re looking for.
Your huddle with worries, this weight on your mind
I know it seems like you’re at war
But there’s more to you than you left behind.
You’re stronger than your days of yore.
Hunting for peace, desperate to unwind
With a will of stone at its core.
Restless. Deep. Unrefined.
You are the lake you’re looking for.