Sonnet 4

2/28/11

My friend, you vacillate from dark to light,

Till I cannot be sure whose friend you are.

At first you shake the hand, then pick a fight.

And all about you friendships fall like stars

That twinkled but a moment in your hand

Which you did love so gently, plucked and pressed

So softly to your heart—and then did stand

And toss those lights you did embrace. The less

You shine, for all the loves you’ve lost. In fits

Of darkness, tantrums born of fickle state,

I cannot know you—once so brightly lit.

Dear ones that loved you now are turned to hate.

My friend, I’d love you still if you could be

Consistent as the sun—but you’re not he.