Gifted hand

What does 'we' mean in this shroud?
The slow painting of the clouds
Ushered away by the chasing hounds?
A taste of light beginning the hour
arousing the meek back into their power?
The hustle through each traffic light found?
Sometimes tortured feet lay pressure down
a little too hard for the greater track.
Yet releasing the fear
Of not being able to look back.
Destination in reach for everyone.
Just a handshake away from all the fun.
Though illness creeps upon our awareness of
the pessimists gifted hand of love.
And contradictions even now
humiliate hypocritical vows.
Sometimes silence allows us to still follow
the hope of finding the one who'll know
the difference between a sympathetic ear,
and the empathy of an extreme tear.
And so it is that we feel fear
of knowing ones that we hold dear.
For inside a whisper of self care
says of such truths - perhaps beware.
For what? To think for our own selves?
To recognise where our faulter delves.
But then how can we ever agree
that I can't love you
and you can't love me?
Such is friendship's complexity,
every time you use the word 'we'.