My shoulders drag through whirls of crescent night,
Under a wooden bridge this heart retains
A labyrinth of doubt
Where reason waits on planks, hollow the veins.
Above the skyscape, a parched madness roars
Oh, patience grows thin along slithered bends
That I, in deep thought grope
For fate’s comfort as street lamppost descends.
Nearing the foot, a dove rustles my skin
Its pearl-like glow changes
The ash of face, soothing my troubled gait
So near the fall, so far a warm embrace.
From nowhere, a glossed horizon appears
Connecting me back to life’s overpass,
More feathers buoy my glides
Until a crescent of bright hope unwraps.
Crossing That Bridge Contest, Deb Wilson
by nette onclaud