Friends at arms: A poem 

You wager your bets on my compliance 

I can tell you that you underestimated my endurance 

Endearments are fine when all things are in line 

I can walk the talk, but the pathway is mine 

Words can’t bring brightness, when the motive is dark 

Friendship is an irony, when the messages are stark 

Patience is my card, but my non-responsiveness hits you hard 

And I am a pugilist who takes blows, but doesn’t break in shards 

I have kept my little forbidding secrets solely to myself 

The sword unsheathes only when the clock strikes twelve 

I have long realised that you are my enemies’ courier 

Your intentions for my surrender fill me with no rancour 

I have fought my battles with the resolute will for change 

Your hasty manipulative advice, for my ears, are out of range 

You tell me to be kind, but my eyes are not blind 

to the fact that you have left your soul behind