Bridge Builder

My friend confided that if this one will
go down, then he will
have to go down with it; it will be his final bridge of dreams;

He has built other bridges before, some small,
others grand, some with spans that did not hold;

The small wooden ones, which take my special note,
hang low and wonderful, spanning a clear stream
between two gardens; my friend's worlds connected;

The grandiose one he works on now,
shall connect East and West,
if integrity holds, and remains unfazed
by storm and wind;

If it does not, my friend declared, he may be unable
to salvage his lofty plan, as his soul is mingled
with the beams and cement that will
come crashing down;

If it falls, he has plans: Either he will
snuff himself out through vicious alchemy
that crackles and hisses out of thin air, just the
thing for fatigued souls; or he will be an illusionist
unto himself, and vanish into thin air;

My friend said: Life having failed me, I will now
be a godless god in an island at earth's end,
and nightly my rakish appetites will consume
the salty tastes and odors of native lasses;
I will care not for their souls or mine,
God didn't mind, why would I?

Aware that I, too, was a bridge builder of sorts,
with bitterness at par with his own,
an invitation was laid out for me to join my friend
when he concludes by vicious alchemy, or indulge
till death in earthly heavens;

I was taken aback, muted, by the dare,
they seemed attractive for those who have
axes to grind against Fate, and lives to enjoy
and, afterwards, throw away; I've given it much thought
and each day, I want to know how his bridge has fared.