Quiet Solipsism
 

 
I thought we used to be

pretty good

friends,

friends with a mission.

real friends -

but

no more.

 

I am invisible to you now,

unless you are forced

 to be in my company.

I am someone

 you tolerate

as you hide behind a drink

or your

 good deeds at church.

But good deeds

 wonít get you

 into heaven.

 

Am I so vile

because

I have grown old,

or because

I am not so pretty?

Or Is it because

you now have lots of money

and a big house,

and I donít,

and you are ashamed for me,

pity me,

and think me crazy,

to ease you mind

and your guilt?

 

Is it because I have no children

and we now share different

life experiences?

You work to be seen

at every social event,

even though I know

 how you despise those crowds

and their dusty lives.


Have we grown to be so different

than the realities we once knew?
 

Is it because I have suffered much

and you have not?

Life has the appearance

of perfect bliss for you.

But somehow I doubt that it

 is all that it appears to be.

 

Are you afraid my pain

or that my poverty will

some how

rub off on you?

 

Or is it because

I know all those quiet secrets,

the ones you cannot afford

for the world

or your now rich neighbors to know?

 

I am the same one

you have always known.

I know your true heart

and your soul.

It does not belong here

among a myriad of

things and polished silver.

Why are you here

in this

barren land?

 

 I will move on now.

I will keep your dark secrets.

And I will try

not to think of you

again,

for where you have gone now

breaks my heart.

 

But I have no right to judge,

though

 I will pray for your salvation.

For I am,

and always will be,

your friend.