My Still Friend

Several times I've come to see
The white man clad with stone
And there I sit beside his knee
Till night leaves us alone

Thus I touch his numbful cheek
And whisper words to thicken ears
But still I do not hear him speak
Then this increased my fears

What seems wrong with my very still friend
As tears bequeath my eye
But then he cracked till the very end
Without even saying goodbye

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Comments (3)

Such an insightful insight from one of color from a different cultural perception and understanding. And ironically these perceptions are administered in ways clearly understood by those who have true depths in feeling of what friendships mean. I don't necessarily agree that the subject of your poem deserves that kind of devoted admiration or glowing attachment. but as I said...we come from different 'implanted' understanding! Thanks for sharing...'My still friend' L
really good poem...thoughtful...shouldnt it be 'sit' instead of 'seat'?
Lovely poem - controlled but yet powerfully effective. Best wishes, Seán