In long evenings, next to shimmering glasses, 
   I watch the pavement of the street hum, 
   and shine in the street light, in moonlight. 
   I go there, to where you are - in small wooden 
           dark caverns - 
   cold to the night, and so lost in your hope. 
   I wish for you, and your hope is mine. 
   The burden is mine, and I will take the pain, 
          and feel, where you are. 
   When senses pull me far from here - 
   far away from the colored ambers of firelight- 
   tears glimmering on my skin, I will look to you, 
          and you look back. 
   Your hope is not gone.  You are in waiting, 
   wandering the long and dark shore, 
          to some far light ahead. 
   You are not bewildered inside, but reserving 
   the strength you hold - the faith, you knew, 
   when you were merely a child. 
          And you still are, somewhere.

-  David Culver