Best friends are always there for us,
The bedrock on which we found our trust.
In moments of deep and black despair,
They provide the comfort of old rocking chairs.
Closer to heart than even a brother,
They are the mirrors of our souls.
They shine forth when there are no others.
They are the conscience which makes us whole.
When we feel lower than low can be,
They raise us up and make things right.
When we find ourselves adrift at sea,
They alone remain our beacon of light.
We make albums of memories together,
Laughter which rocks us to our souls,
Small talk as smooth as well-worn leather,
Bottles of wine drained times untold.
It’s there we write the story of friendship,
In the first pale moments of early dawn,
When teardrops of wax trickle down and drip,
And times are so good we scarcely yawn.
But beware the cold, blue edge of tomorrow:
Gifts unopened, and unanswered phone calls.
You find yourself in a world of sorrow,
Looking through a gloss and tears of salt.
You’ll wonder whatever became of them.
You’ll curse and cry your unjust lot.
They’re always there for us, best friends,
Until, one day, at last, they’re not.