The Bridge

Bridges Between our soul And the soul of another From one bank to another Connecting as one Sturdy, with-standing the torrid wind and rain Yet sometimes do they grow old and start to creek and sway They bend as you walk across, giving only one piece so that you make it safely When a bridge collapses after years of watching the world around it change We do loose a piece of our society Of ourselves The rusty color, the rotting wood It was not always so No, once it was new and shiny The wood still smelling of the thick forests from which it came It stood proud and all applauded it For it linked the two worlds together But it grew heavy with vines and insects The grand forest slowly creeps in on it Taking it over like the ocean tides The branches tangling with the old steel The fallen leaves obscuring its view of the sun The spiders weaving metallic webs in between the beams Making the old warrior a graveyard for the prey of the fantastical huntresses It looks down upon its old friend the river and the stone It moans about the abuses of the rough wheels of the new vehicles It complains to the turtles as they leisurely swim by about the new gravel left on the aging boards Finally, its birth-date goes unseen and it is no more than a means of traveling to one bank and back again It cries its rusty tears into the murky waters And its pain is felt in the vibration of the new cars Yes, it is forgotten Unseen , except for the hawks that perch on its mighty head searching out prey But it still stands noble as the day it was built And it will still creak when you walk across it today