Poem: The Value of Friendship

What friends are friends?
I cannot know.
Those that you make in prison
are not
on the outside.
Those you make while drunk
are not
while sober.
Those you make while rich
are not
while poor.
I'm scared the sad fact is that
when it comes down to it;
All friends are a convenience
of the moment.
Scared I say
because I have always prayed
thought
and felt
that it was otherwise.

I remember finding my father's coin jar
as a child
in his closet
with my best friend at my side.
I split the coins with him
fifty-fifty
it seemed only fair.
My father was very upset.
I couldn't understand why.
We were rich
and my best friend was poor;
to me the money meant nothing
our friendship everything.
Years later he stole from me.
For him the money was important.

As I age my
unbridled love
and naivete
has burned me
more than once.
My dearest wish is that
everyone loved
as deep and true as I.

But they don't.
They wont.
They can't.

The only one's who have come close
are the destitute
and the homosexual.
Perhaps because they know
what it is like
to be truly alone.

This may be the reason
for coupling,
a lover,
a marriage even.
We all want to trust someone
totally,
sharing everything we have.
But friends cannot be trusted
without the bonding power of sex
to keep them in love.

There are good people, yes.
There is compassion,
charity,
selflessness,
and help.

But all of it is fleeting
and then it's
just me,
and God,
again.