life is mapped by burnt bridges over broken roads
names left behind on bitter lips
or muttered by bleeding hearts
even we don’t know the blackness inside our own soul
and if we did the color would make us weep
our trembling hands are not enough
to cling to the edge of reason
but for one thing
the hand of a friend extended without thought
someone who sees the blackness
but doesn’t fear its touch
to whom our tarnished soul is precious
and who walks with us
even after the road has disappeared