My bridge

There was a stone bridge

of my travels-

Newer knew what i made it for !

Many steps ,and many faults

stood by an open wooden door.

I heard words ,

they were running faster-

Hunted profit stuck on shore,

like my never finished dream

knocking on my brain wall.

All those fancy, glowing faces,

celebrating what they were.

Decent letters -evil message

i wont read them any more.

Leave your toasted shadow hanging-,

nothing further to adore!

My sixth Β sense -my clear river,

haven’t swim there yet before.

Stop your travel -throw your belongings,

what is more there to explore?

My stone bridge is much destroyed-

You wont walk on it any more!Β 

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9 thoughts on “My bridge

  1. Very oriental looking the bridge. Like the scenery as it reminds me of Bridgeholm House near the water. Words keep you interested until the end. Bridges are special as if they could tell many a story about the people crossing them. Lovely work.

  2. Never thought of a bridge quite from the perspective you give in your poem. To me, they have always represented an invitation to cross over and try something new. Speaking of bridges, I love the bridges over the canals in Venice that I feature in my present blog. Each one was unique.

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