Built from wood and stone
Spun from silk and steel
Our bridges are delicate things
Rickety and crude, but earnest
Connections in a strange world
Hewn from hope and trust
Eroded by truth and lie alike
In the end, it is kindling
and our bridges burn
In the wreckage, what is left
but resentment and disdain
Familiarity turned to contempt
Joy to anger, love to sorrow
But fire gives us light
And illuminates a path forward
So let those bridges that burn
light the way forward
Because there is no way back

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Scarlatan, in the year 955 AF.