A Tale in Broken Rhyme.
When is a friend a fiend?
A telling issue-
Presents.
Those difficult yuletide exchanges
laced with silvered falseness,
perfect packaging, no ribbon out of place
likes the lies you keep between you,
holding everything so nice.
Like the friend who comes in trauma to take your hand,
to whisper words of comfort,
to still the roaring of the night.
The presentation is flawless,
The advice so kindly given,
and in their eyes you only read
the relief of leaving you behind.
Some will cry at your funeral.
Their tears edging over carefully bought mascara,
that never leaves panda eyes.
There are ones who, trusted, fled,
when you revealed your secret self,
as slyly as a gopher peeking over..
But those that scream in horror
throw up their hands in despair,
and despite all sanity remain,
regardless of the cost,
and accept your presence nicely,
even wearing your cosily knitted underwear,
they are not fiends or gibberlings,
not coffee-pot, soap opera, fiends,
but that old fashioned,
out dated,
issue
The Real Thing.
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