My hero,
He arrived
Like the dawn of a new day.

And my savior,
He rushed in
Like the whistle of winds in a storm.

A ship down the tunnel,
Ocean of tears against the tracks.
A single minded funnel,
“A fire and a crater this nation lacks.”
And perhaps along the way
you make a friend:
that by The End,
you’ll be able to say,
”well that was certainly worth the pain”.

Or maybe you’ll whittle at your bones
carving a figure in your loneliest moments.
Maybe you’ll sit and kick stones,
Or tell your story the way you meant it.

Who’s right. Who’s wrong.
Who cares. Who lives.

Shake hands with the conductor, please
and order a one way ticket to hell.
Because you’ve been stuck already
so what difference would a rod make?

My savior…
A god…
Or so he said.

“My savee.
A naive
little fool,
and to me:
a tool.”

I wonder
What he thinks of me:
Does he love me as much as I
Or does he look to me and will not to cry
Of regret? Of hope? Of guilt?

“I hope someday he realizes
that I was never a god.
It hurts to admit as such,
But at some point…

’If Gods can bleed, Gods can die…’

And he must turn to himself
And realize
that he does not bleed.
He does not bleed anymore.”

Thank him for saving me.
This is all I request you tell him.
Thank him for bringing me back.
and thank him for navigating my seas.