I'm not ready yet
but when was I ever?

here goes,
not poetry
not prose
*** knows
what this is,

if the time was never right
and the light was always dimming
we were there on the banks
of the river skimming stones

now those young friends have all gone
disappeared into the maelstrom
and I am left here all alone
with my memories.

She's the shoulder I cry on
and I know she understands me
she holds me up and dries the tears
from the boy I used to be.