The Death of a Friend

O how we used to laugh
At the silliest things
Roaring brawls and gleeful mirth
Over coffee, mistakes and flings

O how we always shared
The spoils of food and daily battle
The spoilt expectations and pains
That turn us to mettle

Do you see me from above?
Opposite an empty chair, looking out
Using other worlds of black-white
To build my paper-mache, hollow, without

But the sun's out now
The cruel glare hitting home
And I see the distance between
You across the room, unknown.

written 4 Oct 2004