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When I stepped on the bridge,
I prayed I would never see you
—the sea of battered bodies,
soles worn but still trodding barren waters;
the silent cloud of nights void of stars,
the chill of waiting for the daylight
to bring the judgment we never asked for—
I prayed I would never see such a sight,
such a marvel, such a truth
of what it means to live
when the world wants nothing but die.

When I left the calm waters
for a promise of salvation gone putrid,
I wished I would never meet you
—down in the aching tresses of breaths
we must take to survive,
the gunned roads, deserted paths,
snuffed dreams of age and lies sold;
in the cages of time, of circumstance,
of consequences we never took as our own—
I wished to never have met you,
for you to not have come
if you wish to live for as long as you dared.

I could pray; I could wish
—but I could never amount
to what Fate has in store,
or what it has taken from me.
I could pray, but I could not tell you
to walk away from the freedom
you think you owe anyone.
You could pray, and I could never give you
an answer if I choose to go
with the flow of the river
towards an end in sight.

So when I left the stage of the play
no one watched burst into flames,
I promised I would never meet you,
or smile at you, or talk to you, or sing to you
the song of our forgotten world even if it kills me.
I prayed, and I wished for you to return to the start,
to the place I could not see you
—one touched not by fire, tribulation, pain, loss;
a place not our own, but of our foolish forefathers.

Go there, my love, so I would not see you
in the barren waters,
the violence of clashing stars,
and the truth to the judgment heaven brought us.
Go there, and see for yourself
why you wish to live in a world
that wants nothing but to see you die.

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