Passing friends march together on different planes at different times. Their footsteps echo through murky fog that muffles and drags sound screaming through its own pomposity. They know each other well yet have not met and no matter how far they walk, they never will.
Passing friends march together to different beats on different drums. That one there, on the left-hand side. See the regimented stride and solid chin. The other prances boldly with a smile that infects, yet each footstep in time with the other.
Passing friends march together on different paths with different thoughts. They shout across the chasm that binds them together, and both agree that the other is mad and continue in their own way.
Passing friends march together, always in a mind of their own.
Written by Jeffrey Watkins 1995