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Amiga

The rage builds from within, and the rain follows.

A celebration, for one friend, of a new age, a new day - 
from whence the trouble came, I'm all too afraid I know.
Despite what some of the drunkards and movies say,
ale will not destroy what ails you; only griefs do you sow.

Spirits themselves are not the cause, not the root,
just a fan to stoke the flames.
With whom and how much you consume them will constitute;
know well your true aims.

So too, watch well what you say whilst not sober,
for off-hand words can ruin true friendships.
Words said can linger long after one session is over,
all for a memory of treacherous lips.

A friend shadowed, a friend missing,
a friend in trouble but hating her own.
A friend, herself to madness relinquishing,
a friend, making friends question what was known.

Eventually sacrificing ourselves to sleep,
we feared she'd sacrificed us just the same.
As has been said, griefs do you sow, and so do you reap,
if rotgut is the only recourse which you claim.

Speaking, the day after, was to little avail;
truths too buried, yet somehow too close to the surface
for expecting a calm discussion not to fail,
expecting redemption to be a higher purpose.

The rain found me once more, out in the storm;
found me once more thoughts and emotions tangled.
Sheet after sheet flowed down the street in awesome form -
like scales on a dragon's back, with glistening rain spangled.

Unlike most times when the rain finds me askew,
a celestial outpouring could not assuage this hurt.
When one you trust declares 'tis not the same for you;
it takes more than the tears of heaven to bring any comfort.

Saying you miss someone is not an apology, not amends,
but it does breed a greater willingness to listen -
space for words not born of anger, to which forgiveness tends;
for people to once again as friends rechristen.

The rage recedes from without, and the rain follows.

Saying sorry is never easy, and neither is forgiving -
but not all companionship is as simple as we wish.
Going over and over what went wrong, reliving,
only ends, for both, in anguish.

Two friends promising each other to try, 
two friends promising not to repeat the past.
Two friends, looking each other in the eye,
two friends, knowing this they've surpassed.

Returning, partially, to the way things were before -
not as easy as taking off anger's chains.
Yet amidst that, in the evermore,
mi amiga she remains.

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