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.


The War

Just 16