The Blood Stained Bridge

Into the timeless wood he fled, running from the night While demons of his past gave chase beneath the pale moonlight The man dressed in soiled rags, filth of his own making Had spent a life unto himself, all others there forsaking. But in the night, as shadows came, though nothing made a sound A voice there in the dark he heard, though no one was around Calling out to him by name, “Go… seek the blood stained bridge Its ageless timber, dogwood made, up on yon high ridge.” Somehow, he knew the voice he heard while running from the night Was not from friend or foe without, but came from deep inside So run he did through elder wood, to find the yon high ridge The Voice there still was guiding him to reach the fabled bridge. In agony, all power spent, found he the edge of night His demons dogged him all the way and pressed him for a fight The host advanced and pushed him back, back toward yon high ridge But, when he turned to his dismay, he found no “saving” bridge. He questioned if the voice he heard and trusted in the night Was naught but wishful thinking; a last ditch hope-filled lie In anguish and frustration there, he stood in fear and pain And cursed his stubborn nature that kept him bound in shame. Despairing for the life he’d lived, in fear of coming death He fell there on the shifting sand and cried with his last breath “I’m sorry for the things I’ve done and regret the life I’ve led” He turned then to accept his fate, but there appeared the bridge instead. The shadows all began to fade, his soul started to mend As he took the first step ‘cross that bridge, the night came to an end Waiting on the other side, the risen sun in brilliant light The Voice within him beckoned, “Come,” then freed him from the night. ~Christopher Thor Britt