In quiet hours, I dwell on days of old,
A friend once near, now lost in endless night,
Regret’s relentless grip, a tale untold,
For missed chances to save him from his plight.
His laughter once like music in my ear,
Now echoes faintly in memory’s hall,
I wish I’d been more present, more sincere,
To heed the silent cries, the inner call.
In darkness deep, he fought his private war,
His demons won, as silence sealed his fate,
I wish I’d known the pain he had in store,
To change his course, to bear life’s cruel weight.
In shadows cast by hindsight’s bitter rue,
I mourn the friend I failed, the deeds I knew.
Hayden Coombs 