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Wilkes Arnold Aug 13
Every metaphor is a bridge
Connecting what's real to what's true
And only in crossing does one see
Both sides dyed the same hue
Metaphors are like similes only I don't like them as much.
Lucas K Aug 11
Away, far away, and further still.
Beyond rumble and tremble and thrill,
where spies out of shadows hold no sway,
there lies a chamber of stone, with no bars, nor locks or divides.
Every evening,
my weary eyes rest upon the memory of time and its ever shifting, ever stalwart tides.
That is where my heart abides.

My heart resides just below the rusty rail.
Over a watchful window, a silky veil of green sunlight falls like a curtain of fleeting dreams and a blooming hazel tree beneath the frail mist conceals a passageway to emerald fields.
Each morning,
I am drawn nearer and nearer to you, for that is how my mind endures.
That is why my heart never yields.
Sn8 Aug 10
I'm by the window on the 5th floor
the view can only be described
as average
the clouds were in my head before
now they glide above the
hard stone bridge
observed from the window floor
alongside a placebo pill
and a bevarage.
Waiting for you
Simon Apr 4
Once a bridge was nothing more than an abstract tool for reasoning. But one day, this very abstract tool for reasoning became the literal direct opposing opposite to this very operation.
(The operation that was meant to be disposed of from the very get-go!)
But something stopped that from becoming a seamless reality...
After all, seamless is nothing more than predictable tension in the right places that don't normally fit into the very crowd of normalities itself.
But the universe is connected by such truths that don't normally (either), point its own self in the right direction full of directionless odds that don't poke and **** your very potential progression forward...if it wasn't truly for the very bridge that again, (as an abstract took for reasoning), points these very directionless odds into a newer meaning than ever before. Hence, an abstract tool (obviously) when dealing with such tension involving the universal boundaries and conditions and features and traits and meanings and properties that surround itself among many other things in its general surroundings that bear itself too much for an actual correct dose of conquest to deal with all at one single time.
Basically, because if that was the actual case (all at one single time...) Then it'd be a non-localized protocol that would pave the way for ALL such manufacturing projects in one single action!
(And non-localized making such advances in the very field of study, for the very meaning that happens all at once, not within the same boundaries from one another, length and size wise.)
Seeing as how big the universe really is, with still too this very date is filled with such EXTREME (unknown sizes and expectations of it, regardless of its own such limits regulated by the very anticipated push for discovery itself). There wouldn't even be a certain timeframe for things to have its own say (in for how ever long they want to take). Instead, you have something happening all at one time, where everything is truly about one thing, and one thing, ONLY...
Nothing is about progression (or even the very process of actually getting it done) when it's all about the bridge that reasons out the very different areas and points of many likelihoods that don't limit its own variety to its own protocols...when their own hunger is trying to go about achieving one's own aim, or goal of precipitation...
When it's entirely longer than the standing idea...that nothing is without flawless results, if and ONLY if...you make it or break its very abstract tool for reasoning itself!
If and only if you do, then you’re looking at yourself as nothing more than the very truthful meaning for "treason."
Once you commit treason... You’re also breaking the connection with the bridge who's meant to connect everything in one single action for conquest. (And not the misguided mindset for simply achieving a consequence full of such disorder.)
If that were the actual case, then everything isn't as connected as one would previously think.
Especially when your very abstract tool for reasoning is the very reasoning for shame in the face of such irrational thinking.
Hence, when different mixtures of fate and probability confront the very limitations (upon their own such instances full to brim of primal instances and events...)
That's when the bridge that is meant to connect an entire universe together.
Becomes the greatest story ever told about a bridge who also...became the abstract tool for reasoning.
A bridge is a tool for building the different gaps in both space and time. However, that doesn't take the very such elongated gaps into account, when dealing with the rough exteriors of just how long they really are...until you limit yourself to the very surroundings of how a real universal bridge connects an entire universe together before your very eyes could limit itself too such incomprehensible facts.
Sophia Mar 26
Some people: That's vandalism!
Other people: That's art!
Me: How the hell did they get up there?
Svetoslav Mar 2
Beginning like a little egg, soon to hatch into a butterfly
we search for the way of the butterfly,
starting from the lowest phase slowly reaching the skies.

Butterflies are like us, they cannot see the elegance in their wings,
but everyone else sees their glorious emergence
in the likeness of winter to spring.

Like a bridge connecting two energies,
one is water and the other is fire.
Both form a steam,
two in one are gathered to roam around,
with the sun above drowning them in a stream of unity.

Rainbow arises, butterflies absorb its colors
spreading its waves across in every life,
foaming the surface in flowers.

We search for the way of the butterfly
that reaches the dawn of another day.
by Svetli
Follow Svetli Photography here: https://www.facebook.com/SvetliOfficial
A rickety iron bridge
worn out by time,
roofless, look up
to an intriguing sky.

My spirit leaped out,
a meteor shower, along
with the blue moon and stars;
it looked down at me.

Epiphany, not a dead one
ferns sprout from cracked walls –
mute spectators to life.

The raintree standing on the right
homeless, dipping its leaves
into the stream,
meanders through me,
the moss-covered bridge –
transient. It was my place, ours,
yours and mine. Homeless.
Seranaea Jones Dec 2020
-


I think of you as the first draw
from a cigarette wish-well,
and the dizzy well being
of its so-so beckonings—

i became addicted,

remaining perilously close to your
edge with a potential for falling in
while reaching for another taste
as the cravings intensified.

But the euphoria diminished;

when i realized (finally) that you
were not my springwater, nor the
bucket of a dreamwell, nary even
the spool that held the rope—

you were merely a shimmer
of water under a bridge
that was too good
to be true.

Someday i will pause
over your delicious
flow once more,

to remember a taste
necessitating years
to drift downstream...


s jones
Dec 2020


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