The hands that build the bridge are often blamed
For being rough, or holding on too tight,
By those who cross to shores they proudly claimed,
Then turn away and vanish in the night.
I poured my days like water into stone,
To find a well where they could freely drink,
I carried weights they could not lift alone,
And pulled them back when standing on the brink.
I watched them rise, I watched their world expand,
They wore the armor that my patience made,
But once they stood securely on the land,
The memory of who helped began to fade.
They treat your kindness as a debt they won,
A casual right they somehow were decreed,
And rewrite history when the work is done,
To prove they never really were in need.
It hurts to watch the feathers that you gave
Be used to fly away and block the sun,
To know you broke yourself so they could save
The very lives that now leave you undone.
But let them go, with all they took away,
The bitter truth is theirs alone to keep:
A house built on the things they can’t repay
Is just a shallow place where shadows sleep.
