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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