Two sides of a coin kept in a pocket these many years
and when brought into the light, tell different tales.
One of a friendship lost to time and separation,
the other, somewhat new, a restoration.
The one, the darkness of addiction, the other,
the dignity of equality. Destined to be brothers but
fated to different paths I hold this coin in my hand.
One side rubbed smooth like a worry stone is
familiar yet faded; the other, well aged but new.
In taking the coin from it’s pocket more often now,
I find renewed hope for both sides.

(I had the pleasure of meeting up with an old friend from High School last night whose brother was also a good friend. I have not seen either of them in many years. This is for them.)

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