I never looked for him,
In the wind he would send letters of promise and hope –
Written with the blood of soldiers and mother’s tears,
I’d stare instead at the fears of fatherless children,
and hide in the closet of safety and solitude.
I never knew him,
Although he hid in my mother’s arms,
And disarmed himself in the embrace of my only friend.
I’d sit for days on end, reading of him, wishing I had him.
I never opened for him,
Even though he knocked relentlessly at my door,
And I swore to answer for him.
In the sanctuary of my room, I hid from him.
I never touched him,
Although he reached for me in the dead of night,
When the nightmares awakened me and the blackness was my sight.
I never sought him,
Even as we were destined to meet.
At the street
of crossroads we’d clash;
He’d take my hand,
and I’d follow reluctantly into the fire and aftermath.
I never saw him,
Even when he walked with me through the flame of hell,
and down the road of tragedy’s tale.
I never loved him,
Even though he was all of everything,
I pushed him away when his presence was too heavy for me.
I never thanked him,
Even though he saved me time and again.
I never knew I needed him so,
For without strength, I may never have grown.