I was a magical weaver
of dreams, a solid and steady friend
For hours and hours at a time, we talked
as if time would never end.
You always valued my opinions,
often we'd open up
and pour out our hearts,
time was an endless millennium,
always difficult when we had to part.
Then, slowly, this disease
robbed me of my ability
to communicate well.
Does that mean that
deep within me,there are
no dreams left to tell?
Why is it God, I ask in my heart,
as someone so very ill
that most people so deeply fear this?
Have they forgotten the magic I instilled?
has taken my health,
and maybe it's stolen some dreams
it is, oh, so very much worse.
Dear Lord, it's taking my self-esteem.
Because of this, I must ask
"If I can't talk, am I really here?"
Please, come take my hand,there really
isn't anything to fear.
And now, yes now more than ever,
does my very soul cry out for you
to come sit by my side
and speak of times,
when we were the
best of friends.