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James smith Oct 2017
There are some bridges that needed to be burned,
There are some we don't want to burn.
Before I light this match,
Know deep down the untouchable unseeable memories will stay till the day my body sleeps in its decay.
Acina Joy Sep 2017
Burning bridges,
and reaping our sorrow,
The fight through the night,
is for a better tomorrow.
this is an old poem of mine. Hope you like it!
Kelli Sep 2017
In the end,
there may just be too many bridges to burn
and not enough fire to burn them.
Acina Joy Sep 2017
We build our bridges of starlight
only burnt down by the blazing sun.
But we've just transgressed to night,
where owl wings have come undone.

The rat scuttles past the forest floor,
leaves crunching in their path like the fall,
as some people leave open doors,
when they have no one else to call.

The owl swoops in to take its meal
on four, short weak  legs.
The shadows across her window
shows the two dropping into her bed.

The owl took its meal and ate;
his stomach was now full.
The man had what he wanted to take.
He left a feeling so cold and cruel.

Burning bridges isn't fun
if they can only be seen at night.
They can only be burnt by the sun,
and these were bridges of starlight.
I hope you guys like this poem. It's my first one on this website.
Blood sweat and tears, minutes or years
Build it with metal build it of wood
No matter the cost it has to be good

Make it complex, allow it to flex
Build it to last build with desire
It would still burn after a fire

Emotions run true, storms roll through
Build unintentional build with no ridges
Fallen trees are still the best bridges
Apporva Arya Aug 2017
I was busy burning some bridges,
Closing some doors.
Until I realized ,
I also got wings.
To fly over it all.
Sometimes quitting is the best option. No more pushing n pulling, escaping is all what soul wants. So fly fly away.
Daniel Tucker Feb 2017
When my dark clouds rise

And dirt clods fly and I try

In sheer panic to replace

Rotten fruit with dull wax fruit

And wilted blossoms with

Plastic flowers and she thinks we

Will be on yet another short-lived

But cold cycle of tightrope and

Eggshell walking . . .


She comes home

With bags filled with

Apples green & red

Peppers yellow & green & red

Grapes green & purple

Plums yellow & purplish-red

Strawberries, peaches, tomatoes

Bananas & Greek salads.

 
This usually inspires me to go

Outside and make

For this setting a centrepiece of a

Vase filled with a variety of fresh

Picked wildflowers which brings

Her more joy than two dozen

Of the overrated overachiever rose.


At times this seems like

One of  few bridges back

To a healthy & colourful world.
© 2017 Daniel I. Tucker

Another dance through my life memoir.
Oh no! the roller coaster of love...not again! This crazy little thing called love...
I've never been one for burning bridges.
Every time I've tried,
I rebuild to watch it crumple again.

The ashes aren't as strong as the cinder
used the very first time.
But, if I'm honest,

the fragility makes the spiral
much more meaningful.
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