My friend- he fears what's come his way. He fears the fiends who's come to stay. He knows what started as trystful play Has come crashing down to ruin his days.
But we found him at a gentler age, Before he had a chance to change, Before he entered that evil stage. We won't let that fiend unleash his rage.
My friend, he wears his happy face. He lives his life at his usual pace. He lives, he fights to win the race Against the fiend who would take his grace.
With hope the race will be long in years, With relays won, and hurdles cleared By my friend who's battling his fears Of the fiend embedded in his tears.
Cari Lehman 10/6/09
The Fiend Came on a Thursday
It happened on a Thursday- When my friend began to die During a night of passion While he was celebrating life.
He found out on a Thursday That the fiend had found a life. They said they couldn't end it, They said they've really tried.
I found out on a Thursay That my friend thought he would die. I told him I would be there Every second of his life.
I told him on a Thursday That he must still shine bright. The fiend- he cannot beat us, Let's not cry- let's fight.
Very powerful emotions that you are drawing out in this narrative. You are painting the basic human condition when all the excess has been peeled away: the revealing brush of mortality. Yet we might be wiser than fear, in the knowledge that all 'that cannot be shaken will remain.' There is always a better hope, that we might meet 'triumph and disaster and treat those two imposters just the same.' It is not circumstances but a man's reaction to circumstances alone that defines - the image of the man who does not bow down or lose heart at the specter of death is everlasting.
If this is purely fiction (I hope), then you have done a masterful job. If this is coloured with real life, then you have my condolences and my encouragement. The fire of compassion is a thing - perhaps the only thing - that lends life to another candle about to go dim.
