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                     2001 By Philip J. Eggerding                     

No chance was there for me to mourn, so swiftly from my heart was torn the one whose friendship I had borne.
My dear Friend-My best Friend.

The clock of friendship cannot run. Stopped has been its pendulum. My dear friend's time, alas, is done.
Forever, and ever.

Growing friendship, it was halted. Our relationship, assaulted. He who did this has been faulted.
I know him. I loathe him.

The garden of my heart's a tomb. Cold hatred, from it, starts to bloom. For kind regard, it leaves no room.
I hate him, berate him.

My grief now feeds the hatred strong, which grows upon the grievous wrong that cruelly silenced friendship's song.
Revenge must be my thrust.

But would he now the target be? Or would hate crush the memory of one who was a friend to me?
I thought not, I hoped not.

Yet, who is it that feels this rage? And who is locked inside its cage? Yes, who must live it, till old age?
No, not he. That's for me.

But, I need closure. I need peace, and I'll not find it if I cease to seek him out for my release.
Yet, can he release me?

If I were caught in anger's vise, then simple vengeance might suffice, but hatred never is this nice.
Its cold touch hurts too much.

Hatred crushes all it touches. Nothing can escape its clutches. Naught there is that hurts as much as
hatred does, and it grows.

To act in hate would not erase the stain of hatred from my face. For this would just destroy the place
where peace flows and love grows.

So I must seek another road, in order to escape this goad, or see my love of life erode
to ashes. So death is.

Then can it be, the only thing that's left to me is pardoning this enemy, this painful sting
that hurt me, so cruelly?

Can hatred, the forgiving heart, defeat, destroy, or tear apart? I do not think that it could start
to do so. Hate would go.

Yes, this is what must surely be. The only way that I'll be free and let my hatred cease to be.
Forgive it. Outlive it.

By doing this, I don't condone the dreadful wrong that has been done. I'll merely cleanse my soul of one
whose cruelty has hurt me.

I'll let the justice for the dead be meted out by those, instead, whose sight is not obscured by red.
For they see more clearly.

So when I let myself forgive, I finally learned that I could live without the hate. I'd not misgive
what could be. I was free.

What now remains of my dear friend are memories that never end. But, pleasant ones they are to tend.
A garden. To live in.
And love in. Once again.


2001 by Philip J. Eggerding
Do not redistribute without author's permission.


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