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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required They ask if I mend fences now, or burn the bridges down; as though a heart can always choose which ruins to surround. There was a time I'd shoulder beams too heavy for one soul, believing if I carried them, love somehow would be whole. I'd cross the bridge through wind and rain, though every board would groan. The planks grew smooth beneath my feet; they learned my steps alone. The railing knew my weathered hands, the river knew my name. Yet every trip I made across returned me just the same. I thought that love meant building back what others let decay; that if I gave a little more, they'd somehow meet halfway. Some fences lean from winter winds, their cedar silvered thin. Two willing hearts, with patient hands, can set them straight again. Those are the places worth the work, where grace still finds a way; where truth is spoken without fear, and both hearts choose to stay. But some old bridges never burned. No match was ever thrown. They slowly bowed with every step that echoed there alone. One day I stopped and turned to see who walked the bridge with me. I searched the weathered boards behind; no footsteps came to be. But silence held the other shore; the river wandered free. The bridge had learned my footsteps well... none answered back but me. So now I keep my willing hands for hearts that labor too. I'll mend the fences worth the work, where love is built by two.
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