Comatose

Comatose with a burning heart,

Passionate with these tired eyes;

Please tell me, my friend,

Who are my friends?

All these words are before me,

The ones that are truth,

That ancient friend of mine.

But this truth, who knows it?

Not I. No, not I.

Still, truth will be my friend;

In the end I may know truth.

But please tell me, my friend,

Who are my friends?

So many things I have to see,

To know, to understand, to love.

Love, that eternal friend of mine,

But for life I feel tired.

With a burning heart and passion given

I sleep for life, yet live.

So love, my friend, carries on,

And so I know it still.

Thus, please tell me, my friend,

Who are my friends?

I have truth and love,

They will be my friends.

If only they could be like I,

Beings of tangibles and form.

I could truly know and love them then.

But no, it cannot be;

Such is not real.

So with burning heart and tired eyes

My search continues.

I will know what these words mean,

This is for life.

Will no one search with me,

And tell me what these words say?

Alone, there is discouragement;

Take that as truth.

Truth, my old friend,

If only I could talk with you.

Instead I wait, tired, asleep.

With a burning heart.

Please tell me, my friend,

Who are my friends?

Jared Leys