Pity to those who have no time
but to wait and watch and juggle with mine,
And to express how they feel with their words of doubt,
to act like wise men and "help me out".
Where were they when I needed them most?
These ghosts to wise men, wise men to ghosts.

For will it be again, when time need be
that if my heart is shattered, un-touching memories,
That I'll hold out my hand in need of a friend
will they hold on and feel for me...
or like ghosts... vanish again?

This heart of mine has been tainted and stained
blinded by the storm till after it rains,
These limbs of strength get twisted and bend,
not from enemies but by these "so called friends".

And have the shades of I
been drawn to tight
to adjust to this new found light?
And who are they to criticize, condescend and crucify?

I shall walk in the path of I
wrong, right, do or die.
I'll bow my head or lift it high
cast the stones in tears I cry...

I shall be the one to justify
these insecurities of days gone by.
For blame of fault can then only be
the fault of mine, through honesty.

Charles Due