FYOG

When friends good and true

Had been doing stuff to you

And believed they knew best

And even so failed

Exactly to get it right,

That’s really no big problem

Nor huge contentious 

Moan.

Sometimes we all manage

Easy to get it 

Cool; 

Sometimes we just 

Fall between stools of

Our own goddamn making,

Where shaking that tree

Of quite forbidden fruit

To see what tumbles down

Makes us frown

Not happy at all.

But when friends good and 

True do continue to pursue 

A route which simply 

Contours out of your

Life this ability you once owned

To shape your own map

By the free will they alleged 

We had, whether bad it was or

Good, whether sad it 

Was or not, then the 

Friendships 

You perceived as out

There, ringing and sometimes 

Wringing true,

Begin to fearfully

Decay into incredible 

Deadly

Days

Where realities do

False,

And nothing stays

Clear to any end 

You ages ago were

taught

To seek and find.

Neither enemy nor beloved one

Has resisted the temptation

To do what they thought

Sincerely was there 

To be done for you: sincerely 

To be done

For Your Own fucking 

Good.

And so one question remains:

One question does hang 

Like scaffold of old over

This condemned man:

Where might you now find

A real human 

Relation

Of love and truth and

Frank collaboration?

Where might that exist?

Where might that persist?

Where might that 

Resist the weaknesses of

Those who preferred

To keep you in the dark

Of their awfully 

Smart and terribly 

Clever wherefores 

And whys – 

Those times 

And 

Those whiles?



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