An alien urge forces me to write, a feeling just not me,
The parchment absorbs the blue faster, than thoughts materialize in me.
Long I for the company of friends, friends when need be,
In happiness and sorrow, penury and fortitude, through thick and thin should he be sticking with me.
An accomplice with alacrity in deeds good, a critic when I go astray,
Come may he to me, is all I effusively pray.
I don't know why true mates to call, I have not yet found,
The discovery of even one, seems so welcomingly sound.
There have been many who come and go,
With selfish motives writ clear on their brow,
As to the definition of a real friend in veracity,
Come to which they don't even in close contiguity.
Perhaps there's a fault in me, a fault I have to root out,
But my heart is pure, of that I'm sure, any misunderstanding thus I am ready to flout.
A being's nature is something so dubitable and intangible,
That whilst finding a spotless heart, an unfeigned friend, passing of lifetimes is probable.
Thus surrounded by so many, yet feeling so desolate,
For a true friend here I am with sobriety a sincere supplicant.
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