You cross the bridge of solitude,
arriving with your empty hands.
It seems that life shows no mercy,
nor grace between broken men.
Joy rises at the sight of you,
as lamps around begin to glow.
Upon return, the soul reveals
a sign of love, written long ago.
No words — just eyes, just trembling breath —
the soul can’t read the hour’s name,
much less the reasons we once built
to justify such storms and flame.
What rises now to conscious light
are lessons carved by pain and fire,
moments bruised or moments bright
that left our spirits lost, entire.
Let your return not bring me sorrow,
nor awaken false illusions.
The past no longer holds the key —
only a sea of quiet conclusions.
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