bridge

Through the bleak freeze of winter,
and the somnolent summer haze,
Through the all-too-present presents,
and anonymous yesterdays,
There is a bridge arching,
parallel with the curve of the earth,
Unflinching in whatever wandering wind,
unwinced, unmoved, unhurt,
The concrete steps down on the right,
usher one way to go,
And its the same walking down the left,
just with a different name for the road,
It’s seen trees grow up to be men,
and the premature death of infant blossom,
It’s felt the skipping of feet unweighted by joy,
and the leaden trudge through the mud of rock bottom,
Heard the whispered sweet-somethings of brand-new love,
slurred by the bridge’s heady setting,
Witnessed one lover walk away from the the other,
down opposite steps – a split worth regretting,
It’s seen those who can’t envisage a descent left or right
cos their young eyes are too clouded by black,
Eyes which brace, clamp shut-tight as they fall,
the bridge hears their bones crack
It’s enough to make a man cower,
before nature’s knuckles, sharpened to hurt
But still the bridge stoically arches,
parallel with the curve of the earth.
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