Our Own Bridges
Fragments and crumbs of life, all little pieces..
I once crawled through, but stand with no creases..
All this gravel crushed under my hands is my past..
Some still moist with tears lie cold and out of grasp..
Pieces puncture my skin to leave a scar on top of another..
I scream to breathe new life but my words are a quiet shutter..
Sometimes a past is like a shattered mirror that has no depth..
We must fight through the mess and choose life over death..
The walk for some days will be smooth and without ridges..
We just need to remember to look ahead and make our own bridges..
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