The bridge waits silent in my mind still…the bridge.
Stone elders dancing and dying along the bridge while wandering saviors preen amidst the flowering pillars.
The bridge started so long away, spanning more than I pretend to understand, to take me somewhere I cannot go until I’ve been there in my childhood.
The bridge cuts through my dreams as I stare up at each chalk white face, each hard mouth whispering guilt to me.
So many figures line the bridge, so many faceless cloaks push and shove.
Yet on the bridge, I am always alone, alone with my ghosts yet to come.
The bridge…the bridge waits silent tonight...awaiting my return.
