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

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