Holy Saturday
My friend is dead
I listened as he took his last breath
His eyes
While brimming with pain of life leaving
Slightly choking
Lifting himself up straining
His tired head
He peered deep into my eyes with the fire that shines so bright
I forget I’m not loved sometimes because
His love always saw me
More
Than I even saw myself
Sometimes
My best friend
Not quite hazel
Or deep chocolate
Far from striking blue
Or translucent green
Murky and average
Swirling palette
Yet deep
Carrying softness and wisdom and
The twinkle of a shared joke
admiration from across the room
Not much to look at or take photos of but
He’s everything to me
I’m found
In those eyes
They shut now from fighting breaths lungs push up and down shaky against his barren ribcage
Ready for vultures to come
Carry him away
I sink
How can I live on when the only one who knows me so
Is wasting away in agony
How will I hope
Or be free
Or sing a song of who I am if his heart stops to beat
He
Died
Years ago
Thousands to be precise
He dies every year
Every Friday
Sometimes my heart stops remembering quite as much
But every Friday
When I look into His eyes
Tears fall as I am seen
And He breaths His last
April 19 2025
© Naomi Allen, Beautifully Nay
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