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Akemi Aug 2019
at its own axiomatic level
we begin a dance
a dance
a dance
and there are shades

fly off from the other?

a spindle


we make ourselves a difference
a complexity
an intricate form that spills over and everywhere
and is alive
apart from itself
as if this difference making
were for itself, for our own ego
rather than to pull the other
the other’s difference
pointlessly intricate
motionful machines that well up beyond their own depths and
but the content

a meaningful making
and on and on and

turns on it urns iand urns un n uwuw uwuw uwuuwu wuuwuwuwuwuuwuw

the measure of a drop
is in

everyone dances in their own light

what if satire is all you see!

everything ive ever wanted to say 12 yr old has already fallen out a tree

everybody hold themselves so high and precious
but their own being is only meagre pitiful one space arrow

there is a being
that we strive for
but only ourselves feel
and only others know
yet so many want the other to feel
what they can only know

come grieff and grief and grif

i dont get why anyone cares
we do what we do
and it stupid

why you wanna
let the other in ?

only reason u think they smart
is they aint let u in

so i says let em be  .

everyone all love precarity
cant love themselves
sothey strike out when the other they want to love them for themselves dont love them for themselves

thats an impossibility !


whys all the
make all lie and

why do you care so much about yourself
that you desire the other to see?
you are meagre
you are petty
and that’s all you are.

resentment is thinking otherwise.

nobody cares about your drives!!!!!!!!!!
and the more you think they should
the more they wont!!!!!!!!!!!silly!!!!!!!!!
the togetherness of not-

let people sweep and slide
then drift n loop!

everoy !
neurotic big

t­hen why are peopplr loenly?

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

cherished being in a bridge of light

its own singular yearning
pulls back
the body of marx
and the whole black moon

black moon! black moon!

howls the end
howls the night
simpering spat spat spat spatchooey! cross yarn and tip a spews the thunder
and the back back back of
no where
curses like a shut down whine

are you perfectly everywhere not
this is the only series of questions
in philosophy senpai desu desu bakkkooou!!
goodbue canafly
Our heart burns broken at the ends, they fail us, keep building
my lungs are wax inside my ribs, you’re burning, well I’m breathing
this back breaks walked on from carrying friends, can’t stop now, still working
your life’s like rain drops on my tongue, I believe you, keep raining
and it’s alright, it’s alright, we are not right now complete
and I’m alright, you’re gonna be alright, we might never be complete
but the water keeps rising, it’s rising, everybody get into the water
and hold each others hands and lives, let’s all push our hearts together....
we’re gonna leave these shores right now, be everything we’ve never been
but you gotta swear to promise that we’ll never go back again, ever again
and we’re not just islands lying beside each others shorelines
we’re all bound with veins and hopes, we are not each others ghosts
our hearts are abridged, let's build bridges to each other
so this river won’t take us under
filled with monsters and goblins, they keep dragging the bottom
our life is a bridge, let’s build bridges to each other
and pray we don’t go under, oh these careless waters

I’m trying not to confuse: being used, with giving all I am
by: being used, and giving everything I have, all I am
so I’ll build a bridge with hollow bones filled with hollow teeth
inside a hollow heart, with the insides carved
and let the blood in these veins freeze
let the water in these veins freeze and break and flood the dam
we are all we have, this is all we need, hold on it may never end
and I might have to drink my teeth again if I wash up on the coast
so I’ll build a bridge with all that’s left, & not make any more new ghosts
show me your life, wide and bright, I hope that patience fills the seams
keep what’s inside, dry and right, you arch the frame I’ll span the beams
our lives are a bridge for us to give, I want to build a better bridge
from every wrong we’ve done to each other, if I forgive will you forgive?
cause one day we’re gonna close our eyes for death or rest
and abandon ourself, this weak mind and breath
and the columns we made, and roots we grew down deep
will be pulled and gathered in to firewood, and burnt for heat
but when the tension shifts, and these braces turn
I’ll try and build a better bridge
and when all our piers burn, and the hinges miss
I’m gonna build a better bridge
our hearts are abridged, let’s build bridges to each other
so we don’t take ourselves under

Our heart burns broken at the ends, they fail us, keep building
my lungs are wax inside my ribs, you’re burning, I’m still breathing
this back breaks walked on carry friends, can’t stop now, still working
your life’s like rain drops on my tongue, I believe you, keep raining
our lives are a bridge for us to give, I want to build a better bridge
from every wrong we’ve done to each other, if I forgive will you forgive?
our hearts are abridged, let’s build bridges to each other
so this river won’t take us under, so we don’t take ourselves under
our lives are a bridge, let’s build bridges to each other
and pray we don’t go under, oh these careless waters
our lives are a bridge for us to give, I want to build a better bridge
from every wrong we’ve done to each other, if I forgive will you forgive?
our lives are a bridge for us to give, I want to build a better bridge
from every wrong we’ve done to each other, if I forgive will you forgive?
our hearts are abridged, let’s build bridges to each other
so this river won’t take us under, so we don’t take ourselves under
Morning Star Aug 2016
Our Bridge.

Into darkness once again but now it's different 

Because I've learnt to fall a little way

See a little of what went before but never be dragged with in its claw

As now a bridge I see is there it's wobbly yes but still secure

It's made of rope, it swings and rocks 

Even if  I let go it holds me firm

So I can see what lies beneath 

But never again will I fall so deep

For now I choose if I let go 

You see I built a bridge I know

I'm still aware of the void beneath, the loss , the pain, the endless sleep, the fear

But now i can choose to look I can choose to see or even feel

But never again can I fall in

You see

 as I built a bridge for my child within

She cannot live in fear now 

She has my love tied in its secure enough to hold us both 

Entwined together our bridge

Is love

Yes the void is deep and dark 

But the fear has gone now the bridge is there it's so strong it can not break 

You see its made from strength I found one day 

It was buried inside too scared to try to scared to climb

But as an adult I entwined it with love it grew

Now my child has the strength to climb 

She is with me now safe and dry 

She does not need to hide or cry or remember the fear

She only has to walk along side me holding my hand ever so tightly 

The love I have for her is the bridge that can never break it's strong and yet it can swing so we still get to have childish fun 

it has beautiful flowers it has strong arms it can lift us up so high 

It's our bridge so high above 

Above the fall 

The past is left the pain has gone

The fear is dropped into the void as its to heavy for our bridge 

but the happy memories fly with us above 

All we have to do is walk along our bridge.

Yes this time it's different I can only look over and down but I cannot fall now as fear has gone and our love is one me and my little girl 

Our bridge

By Fallen Angel 

19th February 2016
Lawrence Hall Feb 2017
A Burner on the Bridge

A burner on the bridge.  A human burns,
Trapped in technology and beer and fire
We hear the cold dispatch, the desperate call
To go, to see, to mend, if possible
We drive.  The flashers, blue and red, rotate
In the startled faces of those we pass
At speed, Hail Mary speed, surreal speed
Time, motion, space, and light obscure the night

In a pattern tail lights wink dim, then bright
Stalled traffic makes a long glowworm in reds
Boats, trailers, trucks, tankers, Volkswagens, Fords,
People in shorts drift around, slug Cokes, laugh
Unshaven men smoke cigarettes and swear
Blue-haired killers in Chrysler New Yorkers
Blink blankly through bifocals in the glare
Of flashers and flashlights, flares and taillights.
A burner on the bridge.  A Human burns.

We drive slowly through the curious crowds
Who mill about and stare and point and laugh
They consider a charred corpse fair reward
For being delayed on their trip home from the lake
When they ‘rive home they’ll hoist stories and yip:
“I was there; I seen it, man; it was gross!”
But some already are anxious to go
They honk, and pop a top, and cuss the cops.
A burner on the bridge.  A human burns.

Below the bridge, old, silent water lurks
Oozing warmly, fetidly, in its drift
Slithering blackly in the warm spring night
A silent observer of fire and death
A carrier of beer cans and debris,
Radiator coolant, plastic, and blood
Concrete pylons pounded into the mud
Where once were trees.  And now the water sees
A burner on the bridge.  A human burns.

The bridge is an altar.  The wreckages
Are vessels sacred to our gods, the dead
Are sacrifices to our gods, an incense of death
Our offering is broken flesh, and blood:
“The is my body, burnt on this spring night;
This is my blood, shed on the center stripe.
A burner on the bridge.  A human burns.

A shapeless hat among the smoking ash,
Old clothes, a shoe, cans of beer, fishing lures:
The sad trifles and trinkets of the dead
Now, firemen in their yellow rubber suits
Climb slowly through the tortured, broken steels
And gently stow a man into a bag
Ashes and smoke, green radiator fluid
The old river flows, wherever it goes.
A burner on the bridge.  A human burned.

Hours later: coffee at the Dairy Queen
High school baseball players yelp cheerfully as
They wreck fast cars in a video game.
Under the fluorescents, the flashers seem
Still to turn, endlessly turn, in the night
Hamburgers, possibly char-broiled, are gulped
Sloppily, laughingly, as cleated feet
And deep-fried breath cheer a video death.
A burner on the bridge.  A human burned.

A burner on the bridge.  A human burned.
KMD Oct 2016
Right now I am on this strange bridge.
A bridge in between adolescence and adulthood.
The bridge is long, but I walk fast.
Even when I demand my feet to slow down, they keep moving forward with a quickened and frightened pace,
as if they were being chased, but they are not.
You see, no one is on the bridge but me.
And that makes me lonely.
I have friends on both sides of the bridge,
but they don't seem to walk with me.
So I walk by myself.
Sometimes when the loneliness becomes too much to bare,
I turn around to look at where I came from.,
to make my heart warm with the memories.
With just one turn of my head I can hear my Dad's voice on Christmas morning, yelling that Santa came.
I can remember the satisfaction of running through the sprinkler on a warm September school night.
I can taste the hot chocolate marshmallows on my lips, the way it warmed my body on the first snow day of the year.
I can feel the grass underneath my bare feet as I weave in and out of laundry hung up on a line.
I can see the fireworks light up the July night sky as I lay on a riverbank with my best friends.
I can hear James Taylor's sweet voice flow freely though the kitchen as my mom makes dinner.
And I can remember, I can so vividly remember how it feels to lay down at night knowing that on the other side of my poster plastered bedroom wall, were people who would always and fervently protect me.
How infinite I thought those feelings would be.
But most times I can not afford to look back for long.
I must keep walking, so I turn and face the other side of the bridge.
I have no memories there.
Only my own fears,
My own expectations.
My own hopes.
I imagine what that side will look like.
A good job. Bills, savings. Responsibility.
A swanky city apartment, plane tickets to pretty places.
Wanting to make some difference but not quite knowing how.
Phone calls to catch up.
Visits twice a year.
A nice boy, a happy girl.
Something blue, something borrowed.
More mouths to feed, more souls to love.
Coffee and wrinkles.
Fighting to stay in love.
Fighting to stay alive.
These thoughts overwhelm me.
Thinking of the other side places a weighted and anxious ball in the pit of my gut.
So today instead of looking back and instead of looking forward, I choose to look down.
I see the wooden beams of the bridge, smooth and nailed carefully together.
Through the cracks of the wood I notice the raging river below.
The water looks so cold. The movement looks so violent.
I am overcome with a feeling of relief that I am not in the river.
I notice again the wooden beams of the bridge, constructed so carefully.
I bend my knees and my feet feel the sturdiness of the bridge.
I can't help but smile.
And for the first time since I have been on the bridge,
I feel so overwhelmingly thankful that I even have a bridge at all,
that I have something to walk on during this journey.
I guess sometimes it takes looking down,
to realize what's lifting you up.
Stephan Cotton May 2017
Another shift, another day, Another buck to spend or save
A million riders, maybe more, delivered to their office door
Or maybe warehouse maybe store.
Or church or shul or city school, right on time as a rule.

Clickety, clackety, clickety, clee,
I am New York, the City’s me
Come let me ride you on my knee
From Coney Isle to Pelham Bay
From Bronx to Queens eight times a day.

Ride my trains, New Yorkers do
And you’ll learn a thing or two
About the City up above, the one some hate, the one some love.
On the street they work like elves
Down below they’re just themselves.

Through summer’s heat they still submerge,
Tempers held (though always on the verge),
They push, they shove – just like above –
The crowds will jostle, then finally merge.

Downtown to work and then back to sleep
They travel just like farm-herded sheep.
In through this gate and out the other,
Give up a seat to a child and mother,
Just don’t sit too close to that unruly creep!

With these crowds huddled near
Just ride my trains with open ear,
There’s lots of tales for you to hear.

Dis stop is 86th Street, change for da numbah 4 and 5 trains.  Dis is a Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.   77th Street is next.  Watch out da closin dowahs.

     I’m Doctor Z, Doctor Z are me
     I’ll fix your face or the visit’s free.
     Plastic surgery, nips and tucks
     You’ll be looking like a million bucks.

     Looka those pitchas, ain’t they hot?
     You’ll look good, too, like as not!
     Just call my numbah, free of toll
     Why should you look like an ugly troll?

     You’ll be lookin good like a rapster
     Folks start stealing your tunes on Napster
     Guys’ll love ya, dig your face
     Why keep lookin like sucha disgrace?

     Call me up, you’re glad you did
     Ugly skin you’ll soon be rid.
     Amex, Visa, Mastercard,
     Payment plans that ain’t so hard.

     So don’t forget, pick up that phone
     Soon’s you get yourself back home.
     I’ll have you looking good, one, two three
     Or else my name ain’t Doctor Z.

Dis stop is 77th Street, 68th Street Huntah College is next. Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin dowahs.

     It was a limo, now it’s the train;
     Tomorrow’s sunshine, but now it’s rain.
     The market’s mine, for taking and giving
     It’s the way I earn my living.

     Today’s losses, last week’s gain.
     A day of pleasure, months of pain.
     We sold the puts and bought the calls;
     We loaded up on each and all.

     I’ve seen it all, from Fear to Greed,
     Good motivators, they are, both.
     The fundamentals I try to heed
     Run your gains and avoid big loss.

     Rates are down, I bought the banks
     For easy credit, they should give thanks.
     Goldman, Citi, even Chase
     Why are they still in their malaise?

     “The techs are drek,” I heard him say
     But bought more of them, anyway.
     I rode the bull, I’ll tame the bear
     I’ll scream and curse and pull my hair.

     So why continue though I’m such a ****?
     I’ll cut my loss if I find honest work.

Dis is 68th Street Huntah College, 59th Street is next. Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin dowahs.

     He rides the train from near to far,
     In and out of every car.
     “Batchries, batchries, tres por un dolar!”
     Some folks buy them, most do not,
     Are they stolen, are they hot?
     “Batchries, batchries, tres por un dolar!”

     Who would by them, even a buck?
     What’re the odds they’re dead as a duck?
     “Batchries, batchries, tres por un dolar!”
     Why not the Lotto, try your luck,
     Or are you gonna be this guy’s schmuck?
     “Batchries, batchries, tres por un dolar!”

Dis is 59th Street, change for de 4 and 5 Express and for de N and de R, use yer Metrocard at sixty toid street for da F train.  51st Street is next. Dis is a Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin dowahs.

     “Dat guy kips ****** wit me, Wass he
     tink, I got time for dat ****?  Man, I
     got my wuk to do, I ain gona put
     up with him
     no more.”

          “I don’t know what to tell this dude. Like,
          I really dig him but
          ***?  No way.  And
          He’s getting all too smoochie face.”

     “Right on, bro, slap dat fool up
     side his head, he leave you lone.”

          “Whoa, send him my way.  When’s the last
          time I got laid?  I’m way ready.”

          “Oh, Suzie,..”

Dis is fifty foist Street, 42nd Street Grand Central is next. Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin doors.

     Abogados es su amigos, do you believe the sign?
     Are they really a friend of mine?
     Find your lawyer on the train
     He’ll sue if the docs ***** up your brain.

     Pick a lawyer from this ad
     (I’m sure that you’ll be really glad)
     You’ll get a lawyer for your suit,
     Mean and nasty, not so cute.

     Call to live in this great nation
     Or if your bills got you in a rut

     We’re just three guys from Flatbush, Queens
     Who’ll sue that ******* out of his jeans.
     Mama’s proud when she rides this train
     To see my sign making so much rain.

     No SEC no corporations
     We can’t find the United Nations.
     Just give us torts and auto wrecks
     And clients with braces on their necks.

     Hurting when you do your chores?
     There’s money in that back of yours.
     Let us be your friend in courts
     Call 1-800-SUE 4 TORTS.

Dis is 42nd Street, Grand Central, change for the 4, 5 and 7 trains. Dis is a Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Toity toid is next.  Watch out da closin doors.

They say there’s sev’ral million a day
From out in the ‘burbs, they pass this way.
Most come to work, some for to play
They all want to talk, with little to say.

Bumping and shoving, knocking folks down
A million people running around.
The hustle, the bustle the noise that’s so loud
Get me far from this madding crowd.

“We can be shopping instead of just stopping
And onto the next outbound train we go hopping.
Hey, it’s a feel that that guy’s a-copping!”

They want gourmet food, from steaks down to greens
Or neckties and suits, or casual jeans,
It’s not simply newspapers and magazines
For old people, young people, even for teens.

Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Dis is Thoidy toid Street, twenty eight is next.  Watch out da closin doors.

     “So what’s the backup plan if
     He doesn’t get into Trevor Day?
     I know your
     heart’s set on it, but we’ve only
     got so many strings we
     can pull, and we can’t donate a
     ******* building.”

           “Hooda believed me if I tolja the Mets
          would sail tru and the Yanks get dere
          by da skinna dere nuts?
          I doan believe it myself.  Allya
          Gotta do is keep O’Neil playin hoit
          And keep Jeter off his game an
          We’ll killum.

               “My sistah tell me she be yo *****.  I tellya I cut you up if you
                ****** wid her, I be yo ***** and donchu fuggedit.”

     “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.
     And we can just **** good and
     Well find some more strings to pull!”

          “Big fuggin chance.  Wadder ya’ smokin?”

               “Yo sitah she ain my *****, you be my *****.  I doan be ******
                wid yo sistah.  You tell her she doan be goin round tellin folks
                dat ****.”

Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Dis is Twenty eight Street, twenty toid is next.  Watch out da closin dowahs.

     Do you speak Russian, French or Greek,
     We’ll assimilate you in a week.
     If Chinese is your native tongue
     You’ll speak good English from day one.

     Morning, noon, evening classes
     Part or full time, lads and lasses.
     You’ll be sounding like the masses
     With word and phrase that won’t abash us.

     Language is our stock in trade
     For us it’s how our living’s made.
     We’ll put you in a class tonight
     Soon your English’ll be out of sight.

     If you’re from Japan or Spain
     Basque or Polish, even Dane,
     Our courses put you in the main
     Stream without any need for pain.

     We’ll teach you all the latest idioms
     You’ll be speaking with perfidium.
     We’ll give you lots of proper grammar
     Traded for that sickle and hammer.

     Are you Italian, Deutsch or Swiss?
     With our classes you can’t miss
     The homogeneous amalgamation
     Of this sanitized Starbucks nation.

Dis is Twenty toid Street, 14th Street Union Square is next. Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Watch out da closin doors.

     “Ladies and Gentlemen, I hate to bother you
     But things are bleak of late.
     I had a job and housing, too
     Before my little quirk of fate.”

     “There came a day, not long ago,
     When to my job I came.
     They handed me a pink slip, though,
     And ev’n misspelled my name.”

     “We’ve got three kids, my wife and me.
     We’re bringing them up right.
     They’re still in school from eight to three
     With homework every night.”

     “I won’t let them see me begging here,
     They think I go to work.
     Still to that job I held so dear
     Until fate’s awful quirk.”

     “So help us now, a little, please
     A quarter, dime (or dollar still better),
     It’ll go so far to help to ease
     The chill of this cold winter weather.”

     “I’ll walk the car now, hat in hand
     I do so hope you understand
     I’m really a proud, hard working man
     Whose life just slipped out of its plan.”

     “I thank you, you’ve all been oh so grand.”

Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Dis is 14th Street, Union Square, change for da 4 and 5 Express, the N and the R.   Astor Place is next.  Watch out da closin doors.

     The hours are long, the pay’s no good
     I’m far from home and neighborhood.
     All day I work at Astor Place
     With sunshine never on my face.
     Candy bar a dollar, a soda more
     A magazine’s a decent score.
     Selling papers was the game
     But at two bits the Post’s to blame
     For adding hours to my long day.
     All the more work to save
     Tuition for that son of mine: that tall,
     Strong, handsome, American son

Dis is a Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Yer at Astah Place, Bleekah Street is next.  Watch out da closin doors.

     Summer subway’s always hot, AC’s busted, like as not
     Tracks are bumpy, springs are shot ‘tween the cars they’re smoking

     To catch the car you gotta run they squeeze you in with everyone
     Just hope no body’s got a gun 'cause getting there is half the fun.

     Packed in this car we’re awful tight seems this way both day and
     And then some guys will start a fight.  Subway ride’s a real delight.

     Danger! Keep out! Rodenticide! I read while waiting for a ride.
     This is a warning I have to chide:  
     I’m very likely to walk downtown, but I’d never do it Underground.

     Took the Downtown by mistake.  Please, conductor, hit the brake!
     Got an uptown date to make, God only knows how long I’ll take.

Yer ona Brooklyn Bridge bound Numbah 6 Train.  Dis is Bleekah Street, Spring Street is next.  Watch out da closin doors.

     The trains come through the station here,
     The racket’s music to my ear.
Images, overheard (and imagined) conversations.  @2003
tina lombardo Sep 2018
I walk on your bridge
I walk on your bridge
I wanted to cry
I walk on your bridge
I walked on your bridge
the wind blew i knew you were there
I walked on your bridge
I walked on your bridge
I  remember your kiss
I walked on your bridge
i walked on your bridge
i wanted to jump
I walked on your bridge
I walked on your bridge
to say i love you
I Walked  on your bridge
Morning Star Apr 2020
*** Fallen Angel ***

Into darkness once again but now it's different

Because I've learnt to fall a little way

See a little of what went before but never be dragged with in its claw

As now a bridge I see is there it's wobbly yes but still secure

It's made of rope, it swings and rocks

Even if  I let go it holds me firm

So I can see what lies beneath

But never again will I fall so deep

For now I choose if I let go

You see I built a bridge I know

I'm still aware of the void beneath, the loss , the pain, the endless sleep, the fear

But now i can choose to look I can choose to see or even feel

But never again can I fall in

You see

as I built a bridge for my child within

She cannot live in fear now

She has my love tied in its secure enough to hold us both

Entwined together our bridge

Is love

Yes the void is deep and dark

But the fear has gone now the bridge is there it's so strong it can not break

You see its made from strength I found one day

It was buried inside too scared to try to scared to climb

But as an adult I entwined it with love it grew

Now my child has the strength to climb

She is with me now safe and dry

She does not need to hide or cry or remember the fear

She only has to walk along side me holding my hand ever so tightly

The love I have for her is the bridge that can never break it's strong and yet it can swing so we still get to have childish fun

it has beautiful flowers it has strong arms it can lift us up so high

It's our bridge so high above

Above the fall

The past is left the pain has gone

The fear is dropped into the void as its to heavy for our bridge

but the happy memories fly with us above

All we have to do is walk along our bridge.

Yes this time it's different I can only look over and down but I cannot fall now as fear has gone and our love is one me and my little girl

Our bridge

By Fallen Angel

19th February 2016
*** Fallen Angel ***
Written by
*** Fallen Angel ***
There’s I place I go to
When you cross my mind
It’s almost as if your still there
By my side
Whispering in my ear
Caressing my palm

We called it the bridge to nowhere

I remember meeting you there
Sitting near the end
Staring out towards the water
You approaching me

I remember looking up
At your perfect tanned face
Your messy dark hair
Your mesmerizing gold eyes
Casually wearing your football jersey.

I remember your simple hello
Your nervous chuckle
Your silly smile.

I remember smiling back
And inviting you to sit.

Our first meeting on the bridge to nowhere

I remember sneaking out after dark
To meet you there
Just to lay on the bare wooden boards
Staring at the moon

I remember the smell of flowers that spring
branches blooming nearby
The smell of smoke and spices
Forever embedded in your clothes.

I remember your singing
Sweet nothings
in Spanish
Softly in my ear

Entwined together on the bridge to nowhere

I remember your high school graduation
Your mother so proud
Your sister excited
Your father crying

I remember your first game in college
Your running onto the field
Pride and joy in your eyes
Though you didn’t play
Because of that sprained wrist

I remember your sweaty embrace
And your ramblings
of the game
Reviewing every play
Your eyes shimmering with excitement

Racing to the bridge to nowhere

I remember that call
Which changed my life
My heart stopped
I couldn’t think

I remember rushing
to the hospital
Crying with your little sister
Collapsed on the floor

I remember your bloodied face
Wrapped in linen
Tubes bursting from your chest

I wanted to race to the bridge to nowhere

I remember spending my nights
Curled by your side
Willing you to stay

I remember that endless tone
That said you were gone

I cried at the bridge to nowhere

I remember curling up in your hoodie
Smelling you
Pretending it was you
Your arms surrounding me

I remember lying by the stone
That recalled your name
Talking to you
Burning letters by the small candle

I remember cleaning out your room
With your mother and sister
Finding that little box by your bed
Your final gift to me

I opened it at the bridge to nowhere

I still go there sometimes
With a letter filled
With promises to you
And a flame by which to send it.
Kimberly Clemens Jul 2013
I burnt a bridge that didn't have any water under it.
No numbing temperature to shock you.
No tormenting waves to annhilate you.
No angry current to pull you under.
The bridge let across all the danger that I wanted to avoid.
But now that I burnt it down to the ground all that danger
came crashing down into the safe haven
that was protected by my bridge.
I was told to never look down when you feel inferior.
There was grass under that bridge but I was too blind to see it.
I was too busy looking up at the speeding cars crossing this turnpike.
I was suffocated and transfixed by the high beams of my problems.
I was so busy facing my problems head on
That I never bothered to look down and find the strength in giving in.
I didn't realize the bridge was what was directing the negativity away from me.
I listened to them. Society, that is.
And what a stupid idea that was.
Because they told me to burn my bridges.
They told me to strike a match to them
And watch it settle into an unforgiving blaze
Before walking away without looking back.
But they never told me some bridges were meant to save me.
They never said the real danger could be what was beneath the bridge.
They never warned me about the dam underneath that was ready to burst.
Karma is crashing down onto me like baseball-sized hail.
It's not the boomerang effect coming back around to hit me in the face
But instead the avalanche I created from throwing it too far.
And hitting a wall that was too fragile to be played with.
The worst part is I have no bridge to take cover under in a hailstorm anymore.
And no bridge to cross to get away from the incoming avalanche.
All I have are the ashes of what I thought was hurting me.
But it was actually what was saving me.
J H Webb Nov 2017
(from my hospital bed – Nov. 14 2017)

Over the bridge of friendship
How many time I've gone
Sometimes I'm met in the middle
Sometimes there is no one

Sometimes I am too weak to cross
Sometimes I am too strong
But crossing the bridge of friendship
That never can be wrong

Over the bridge of friendship
I've learned to heal two hearts
I've been the one most giving
And I've played the other part

I've been rude and selfish
And I've been loving and kind
But the bridge always reminds me
That I'm not alone this time

Over the bridge of friendship
I've travelled many times
Sometimes I am accepted
Sometimes I am declined

I'm not saying that I am perfect
I've had my share of pride
But I never would refuse you
On this bridge of yours and mine

So when you feel too sad or lonely
Just stop and turn around
And cross the bridge of friendship
Where you know I can be found

And I know the bridge of friendship
Will outlast me in the end
But when you take that last walk
I'll be waiting for you my friend

James H. Webb
Jimmy Hegan Apr 2016






Autumn Sep 2014
Often times upon hearing that somebody is sick, we assume that means that they are physically ill with the flu, the common cold, or some other virus going around. What we don’t realize is that people can be sick in the mind as well as in the body. I watched a young girl jump off of the 25th street bridge in the fall of last year, and that’s when I came to understand the true impact that mental illness can have on an individual. Only after witnessing this tragic event did I really start to grasp that mental illnesses such as depression, anxiety, and insomnia, to name a few, are just as real and draining as physical illnesses can be.
I was planning on having a fun night out with my sister. It was a couple of weeks after my eighteenth birthday and my older sister Charlotte was going to take me out for a girl’s night. Our plan was to go to Lawrence since I would be able to get into concerts and such after turning eighteen. I was really thrilled, I got ready swiftly, and I headed over to my sister’s house. I was soon disappointed though because once I arrived she didn’t want to go to Lawrence. I was of course bummed but we decided to go get pizza instead. It was on our way back from picking up pizza that we both witnessed this tragic event.
As we drove across the 25th street bridge it was rather dark and I was not paying much attention, however, Charlotte thought that she saw somebody standing on the other side of the bridge. At the time I thought for sure that she was mistaken, but she turned around the car and as we drove slowly back across the bridge, I was horror struck upon seeing that there actually was a young girl probably about my age standing there on the other side, grasping the ledge with a pale face and wide eyes.
My sister stopped the car in the middle of the road and yelled to me, “Autumn, call 911 right now!” It took me a moment to realize what was actually happening. Even as it sunk in, I did not ever imagine that she would really jump. As I fumbled with my phone trying to call 911, I could hear my sister begging and pleading for the girl to come down. At this point I was still not convinced that she would jump so I did not realize the urgency of the situation. I explained to the 911 operator that there was a girl threatening to jump off the bridge. She kept asking what street I was on but I did not know the street and I had become side tracked by listening to my sister try to coax her down. I just remember being very appalled by the girl because she was being extremely rude. I of course did not understand what would cause her to be so rude to people that were trying to save her life. At this point in my life I definitely did not think of depression as something so serious. I of course knew about it but I had never come to understand it before. I knew I had to find out the name of the street so I peeled my eyes and ears away from my sister and the girl and started sprinting down the street. I could feel the cool fall air on my hot flustered face as I was running. I know it sounds crazy but my adrenaline was rushing and I became detached from the situation during those 30 seconds of running. It was such a lovely November night and exhilaration was running through my body like a steady current. I felt like I was in a scene from a movie. I was not really that scared yet because I had already played it all out in my head. The way I pictured it, Charlotte would convince the girl to come down, cops would come and make sure that she would come down safely, we could all go our separate ways and that would be that. I’d never experienced any sort of situation like that one, so of course I had envisioned it would play out just like it would if we were in a movie.
All I remember next was being pulled out of my run by a piercing scream from my sister. I stopped and looked over and the girl was no longer standing on the ledge. It had occurred to me that she had jumped but for some reason I was still convincing myself that she was fine. Even though I knew logically that the likelihood of surviving after that kind of a fall was not of any percent, I couldn’t help but think that she might still be okay. I just had not played out that scenario in my head, so therefore it was unreal to me.
I stood there in complete and utter shock. It was as if everything around me had come to a standstill and all I could hear was the operator on the other line “Ma’am…ma’am? Are you still there? Do you know the street name ma’am?” I simply hung up. It seemed as if in a matter of seconds 12 cars were surrounding me and sirens were going off and people were shouting and I still to this day have no idea how that bridge went from being such a quiet empty place to being filled with dozens of people within seconds.  My sister was not in an emotional state to deal with what was happening so I quietly moved her car, called her husband, and talked to the cops.
For some reason I never got emotionally upset about the event. My sister to this day is dealing with PTSD and still has vivid flashbacks and reoccurring nightmares. It was only after witnessing this event and seeing the dramatic effects that it had on my sister and still continues to have on my sister, that I realized the importance of dealing with mental illnesses on the same level of urgency that we deal with physical illnesses. I have never had many mental health problems so therefore I can look at things from a broader more logical perspective. I often times learn a lot just by evaluating other people’s experiences rather than experiencing things on my own.
I can now see that when somebody has a mental illness we need to help them and we need to be patient. I think the most important thing to do is to remain kind and open minded. We need to realize that when somebody is dealing with a mental illness they do not always realize or understand that they may come off as rude or angry. What I have learned is that getting angry with somebody who has a mental illness will only escalate things further. I did a lot of research into mental illness after this event and I think the most important thing to remember is that just because you don’t understand mental illnesses from a personal viewpoint, does not mean that you can’t be knowledgeable about such illnesses and learn to deal with them in a helpful and compassionate way. I think another important thing to mention as I bring this story to a close is that there may not be a logical reason as to why horrible things like these happen, but that doesn’t mean that we have to create one. By this, I mean we should not place the blame on ourselves because that is just as illogical as jumping off of a bridge.
marriegegirl Jun 2014
<p><p>Vous ne seriez pas normalement penser à un jour du mariage de l'Alabama dans un 30 degré cadre hivernal rapide .Mais je vous assure .cette soirée douce de couleur simple est chaude comme ils viennent .Enveloppements Pashmina pour les « femmes de ménage .les liens de la laine à la main.une cérémonie et la  <p><a href="" target="blank"><img width="240" height="320" src=""></a></p>  réception éclatante à Stone Bridge Farm鈥c'est une galerie que vous aurez envie de s'acoquiner avec n'importe quel moment de l'année !\u003cp\u003e<p>ColorsSeasonsWinterSettingsFarmStylesModern De la belle mariée .J'ai épousé mon mari douce journée d'hiver le plus parfait à Cullman .Alabama à Stone Bridge Farm .Alors qu'il était un frisquet 30 degrés le jour de notre mariage .la chaleur de nos amis et de la famille ( et beaucoup de danse ! ) Nous a empêché de congélation !Mon inspiration pour le mariage était tout confortables et élégantes .Je voulais aussi de lier des éléments de Noël sans trop le thème des vacances .Lorsqu'on pense à la demoiselle d'honneur les couleurs de robe .je voulais éviter rouge ou vert .j'ai donc choisi une palette neutre .J'ai donné mes demoiselles d'honneur des options d'habillage et leur a permis de choisir leurs propres robes .Je voulais qu'ils se sentent à l'aise et très beau!Je leur ai aussi donné pashminas et robes crème pour les aider à rester au chaud tout au long de la journée.Ma robe de la collection Anne Barge Blue Willow a été faite d'un matériau de point suisse que j'ai tout de suite tombé en amour avec .Le matériau unique.doux complété le thème du mariage .<p>La cérémonie a eu lieu à la chapelle en bois magnifique à Stone Bridge Farm .Arbres de Noël et de cyprès ornés de la chapelle .ce qui porte à juste la bonne quantité de touches de Noël .Les bancs en bois et des bougies dans les fenêtres ajoutées à l' agrément !La musique de Noël douce a été joué par le pianiste et violoniste comme invités étaient assis .Mon pasteur nous a mariés avec les douces histoires personnelles sur Tyler et moi dans le sermon .<p>La réception a eu lieu à côté.dans leur belle salle de réception.Tout <b>robe ceremonie fille</b>  sur la réception dégageait une ambiance chaleureuse et confortable .Mon mari .Tyler .était un ancien mascotte de l'Université Auburn .si naturellement .Aubie Tigre dû faire une apparition à la réception.En outre.le gâteau du marié sélectionnée Aubie assis sur le dessus de l'enseigne Auburn University .un monument bien connu dans la communauté Auburn .Nous avons tous dansé toute la nuit de la musique fantastique de Az Izz.who dansé tout autant que nous avons tous fait !<p>Mes choses préférées au sujet de notre mariage étaient les contacts personnels dispersés dans la journée.Maman super talentueux Tyler fait arc les liens des garçons d'honneur de laine gris .En outre.son cousin  <a href=""><b>robe ceremonie fille</b></a>  en fait le gâteau génial Aubie !Mon meilleur ami .et dame d'honneur .esquissés toutes les images pour le programme de mariage .mon mari et talentueux conçu le programme lui-même.Le pianiste qui a joué lors de la cérémonie a également joué dans le mariage de mes parents .Toutes ces touches personnelles ont rendu notre journée encore plus spéciale .Au lieu de regarder en arrière et de voir un jour froid d'hiver en Alabama .nous sommes remplis de souvenirs chaleureux de notre famille et les amis qui nous entourent sur ​​le plus beau jour de notre vie Photographie <p>: Couleur Brandon Gresham - Simple | Fleurs : . Avagrâce Designs A Stone Bridge Farm | Robe de mariée : The White Room | Invitations: Frappée | demoiselles d'honneur robes : ASOS | Restauration : Stone Bridge Farm | Cheveux Et Maquillage Bretagne Benton Massey | Calligraphie : Sarah Tate Designs | Band : Az Izz | Bridegâteau : Gâteaux créatifs de Cullman | demoiselle d'honneur Robes : Cible | Cérémonie et réception Lieu: Stone Bridge Farm | marié et garçons d'honneur Tenue: M. Burch Tenue de soirée | gâteau du marié : cake Creations Hannah Whitner | Robe de Réception : BHLDN | planification de mariage et conception:Stone  <a href=""><b>robe de soirée grande taille</b></a>  Bridge FarmBHLDN est un membre de notre Look Book .Pour plus d'informations sur la façon dont les membres sont choisis .cliquez ici</p>
Louise Oct 2017
I wondered how long it would take me to muster the courage to mention this bridge.

Guess now is the time.

I cross this familiar bridge whenever I go home from work.
It was a long bridge hanging just over a busy avenue with high-speed vehicles on a constant city rush.
It was long enough for me to have time to contemplate how it feels like to be gone in this world forever.
A bridge rarely crossed by pedestrians, a solitary place for an emotionless soul.

There was one night I stopped walking at the middle of that bridge.
With my detached eyes looking over the passing lights of the cars,
I thought maybe I could fall from this height and get hit and dragged by a truck.

I could die on the spot.
Beautiful, I thought.
This place could be such a beautiful place.

To be gone.

The thought enticed me like the aroma of my favorite food.
And at the same time, it sent shivers down my spine
Until soon enough, my mind was clogged by the guilt caused by my thought of wanting to leave the world for my own selfish desires of escape.

I refused to be that coward.
I still remember how I desperately sobbed my way down the bridge.

From then, it was very hard for me to cross the bridge without getting panic attacks.
Nights weren't chilly, but my legs can barely stand straight,
Knees shaking nonstop.

But there's no other way for me to get home and I badly want to bury myself in my sheets.

I have to cross the bridge.

I have to face this path.

I have to endure the heavy weight on my chest. Every single day.

I have to fight these crippling thoughts.

At all costs, I have to get home.
Eryri Sep 2018
Standing straight in the swirling straits,
A bridge - now outdated - whose chains bear great weight and history,
Bejewelled with diamond raindrops that glisten in the winter sun,
Lending the old bridge the look of a semi-submerged crown.

This bridge is a source of pride to the islanders,
Many stories are told of it,
Some are true and some are legend,
But one tale lies inbetween:
That of a giant King chased from the island.
Forced to leap across the boiling straits,
Barely making landfall,
Falling backwards as he did so,
Watching in horror as his crown tumbled to the ground,
Falling into the grey waters.

Many years went by,
And modern ways demanded a bridge.
As foundations were laid a discovery made!
Upon the shore, deep in ancient mud,
Poked out a colossal rusting iron crown,
News broke!
Everyone spoke!
The story was true!
A giant King had once ruled!
So, in honour of this ancient King,
The design was amended to honour this crown,
And that is why this bridge, in profile,
Resembles the ancient coronet,
Found on the shore of the waters that the Romans failed to cross.
Of course, naysayers claim there was no crown,
Merely publicity seekers who found an old iron fence,
And who contrived a tale with willing locals.
Whichever is true,
The bridge is part of a glorious view,
And stories abound of its construction,
Like the man who walked the length of the chain,
Stopping halfway to take in the view whilst making a shoe!
Or of the maiden who swore that all who crossed would suffer a loss,
As great as they could ever imagine.

This bridge, whose beauty is unsurpassed,
Is now part of a glorious past of truths, lies and legends.
But forever it will stand,
And many more stories it shall inspire,
For it no longer simply links lands,
But now links truth and myth...
Am byth.
"Am byth" Welsh, meaning "forever"
Anonymous Freak Jul 2016
Signaling smoke
In the summer sky,
You could've seen the signs
Miles away.
My parents' marriage
Went up in flames.

I wasn't afraid of fire
When I was a child.
I was brought up
Under the black locust trees,
With dirt paths
Beat with bare feet
Into the woods.
And the smell of smoke
Was normal on my clothes,
I could start a fire when I was so young,
I don't even remember my age.

I wasn't afraid of fire.

So when it
The bottoms of my feet
As I sat on the wooden bridge
Built across the battle trench
Between my parents
I wasn't worried,
Not really.

When it collapsed
Every child ran to what looked like
The safer side,
Which we each had different
Opinions of.

I walked out
With white ash
On my eyelashes
Like delicate, fluttering snowflakes.
My nose burned, and it sometimes
Hurt to breathe.
My body was covered in soot,
It blended my skin into
The night,
And I felt safer there.

I am building a bridge now.

It's a work in progress,
It will be years before it's done,
But we're building with steel
Not wood.
And I'm slowly
Washing my body
Of the black powdered residue,
And breathing out the smoke.

The only problem is,
First I have to cross the bridge
I lived on
As a child.
See the brittle places
Where it caught flames,
And repaire the flaws left by it
In my head
So that our bridge binding
Him and me won't ignite.

I was never afraid of fire.

But I'm afraid of what it does.
Try walking on a charcoal bridge,
A burnt up marriage,
Still smoking.
Tell me
That isn't terrifying...
It's hard to know
Where to put your feet
So you don't fall.
And I'm not past that bridge yet,
So sometimes
I forget
That I'm not her,
And he's not him.

I have parts of her face,
I have features that are his.

I have some of their problems.

But I'm crossing that bridge
After they burned it.
Amitav Radiance May 2014
There is a bridge across the raging river
Bridging the gap from between destinations
As if the river is conquered to submission
The thick pillars taking the onslaught
Of the strong undercurrents underneath
People from all walks of life, walk across
Creating bridge among people’s life
It’s an exchange of ideas and skills
Between the two separate destinations
As successfully bringing the society together
The bridge stands strong and allows a free passage
Bearing no discriminatory thoughts
Building bridges, to reach out to each other
Acting as the lifeline for so many people
In times of eventualities, happy or sad
The bridge is testimony to so many occurrences
Patiently serving the multitude
Cushioning them from the fury of the river
It’s concrete in its resolve to protect
To bridge the differences in people’s hearts
Build new bridges to reach out to everyone
Mend the cracks in time, to take care of the bridge
For, it will withstand all the fury and help bridge the gap

© Amitav (Radiance)
Nicole Bataclan Jul 2013
It is the bridge
Now and forever
The bridge of fear
And are we crossing over?
It is the bridge between
Possibility and doubt
Will we stay stuck
Or are we willing to try?
It is the bridge between
Who we are and
What we could be
Will the distance
Or will it be us
Are we ready
To venture
Cross this bridge
To our future?
Hold me tight
Let us take a chance
And bridge the gap
I am inclined
If you are
To cross the bridge
That leads to
You and I.
Joel A Doetsch Jul 2012
I walked to the place today
the place where our bridge
   used to be.  
It's still hidden
deep within my mind.  I
know the way to the spot
all too well.

I stand and look across the chasm

The structures that anchored our bridge
to the canyon wall are now overgrown
  with ivy and vines.  The once
mighty body of the bridge itself
   lies a thousand feet below, slowly
eaten away by the river of change.
The river that also eats away at our
canyon walls, pushing us ever further

I remember when we built that bridge.
I saw you across the ravine.  You didn't
notice me, you were too busy smelling
the tiger lilies.  I was in awe.
I felt like a fool pretending to be wise
I felt like a boy pretending to be a man

I yelled towards you, hoping you'd notice.
You did.
You smiled.
I almost died right there.

I sent you love poems on kites
You always blushed as you read

Then one day I threw over a line.
It was just the beginning.
Over the months, I built upon that
line, until I had constructed a
mighty bridge to
Span the gap

I was finally together with you
Everything was right.  My life
was filled with a soothing light.

I remember the night our bridge collapsed.
I remember the hateful words and venemous,
acidic thoughts that became kindling.
We spit bile and gasoline soaked barbs at each other
soaking the bridge with discontent.
We hurled insults at breakneck speeds, creating
sparks with the collisions.  The result was a towering
inferno between us.  It was fueled by contempt and

Still we shouted, unaware of the permanence of what
we were doing

By the time we came to our senses, we were too late.
The bridge creaked and bowed as the fire consumed
it.  I remember the last thing I saw before it fell.  I saw
your eyes staring at me through the flames, your
beautiful eyes lit up by the moment.  The tears
reflected off of your face.

The bridge finally plummeted into the abyss below.  It
was a falling star of potential energy.  What we could
have had. I cringe when I think of how black the river
looked that night.

Now I'm standing here at the spot that it all
started.  I look up, and I see you on the other
side again.  You're wearing a white dress and
a smile.

I smile back.
My heart glides.

Ready to begin anew
Mitchell Duran Dec 2013
In the Fall, when the temperature of the Bay would drop and the wind blew ice, frost would gather on the lawn near Henry Oldez's room. It was not a heavy frost that spread across the paralyzed lawn, but one that just covered each blade of grass with a fine, white, almost dusty coat. Most mornings, he would stumble out of the garage where he slept and tip toe past the ice speckled patch of brown and green spotted grass, so to make his way inside to relieve himself. If he was in no hurry, he would stand on the four stepped stoop and look back at the dried, dead leaves hanging from the wiry branches of three trees lined up against the neighbors fence. The picture reminded him of what the old gallows must have looked like. Henry Oldez had been living in this routine for twenty some years.

He had moved to California with his mother, father, and three brothers 35 years ago. Henry's father, born and raised in Tijuana, Mexico, had traveled across the Meixcan border on a bent, full jalopy with his wife, Betria Gonzalez and their three kids. They were all mostly babies then and none of the brothers claimed to remember anything of the ride, except one, Leo, recalled there was "A lotta dust in the car." Santiago Oldez, San for short, had fought in World War II and died of cancer ten years later. San drank most nights and smoked two packs of Marlboro Reds a day. Henry had never heard his father talk about the fighting or the war. If he was lucky to hear anything, it would have been when San was dead drunk, talking to himself mostly, not paying very much attention to anyone except his memories and his music.

"San loved two things in this world," Henry would say, "*****, Betria, and Johnny Cash."

Betria Gonzalez grew up in Tijuana, Mexico as well. She was a stout, short woman, wide but with pretty eyes and a mess of orange golden hair. Betria could talk to anyone about anything. Her nick names were the conversationalist or the old crow because she never found a reason to stop talking. Santiago had met her through a friend of a friend. After a couple of dates, they were married. There is some talk of a dispute among the two families, that they didn't agree to the marriage and that they were too young, which they probably were. Santiago being Santiago, didn't listen to anybody, only to his heart. They were married in a small church outside of town overlooking the Pacific. Betria told the kids that the waves thundered and crashed against the rocks that day and the sea looked endless. There were no pictures taken and only three people were at the ceremony: Betria, San, and the priest.

Of course, the four boys went to elementary and high school, and, of course, none of them went to college. One brother moved down to LA and eventually started working for a law firm doing their books. Another got married at 18 years old and was in and out of the house until getting under the wing of the union, doing construction and electrical work for the city. The third brother followed suit. Henry Oldez, after high school, stayed put. Nothing in school interested him. Henry only liked what he could get into after school. The people of the streets were his muse, leaving him with the tramps, the dealers, the struggling restaurateurs, the laundry mat hookers, the crooked cops and the addicts, the gang bangers, the bible humpers, the window washers, the jesus freaks, the EMT's, the old ladies pushing salvation by every bus stop, the guy on the corner and the guy in the alley, and the DOA's. Henry didn't have much time for anyone else after all of them.

Henry looked at himself in the mirror. The light was off and the room was dim. Sunlight streaked in through the dusty blinds from outside, reflecting into the mirror and onto Henry's face. He was short, 5' 2'' or 5' 3'' at most with stubby, skinny legs, and a wide, barrel shaped chest. He examined his face, which was a ravine of wrinkles and deep crows feet. His eyes were sunken and small in his head. Somehow, his pants were always one or two inches below his waistline, so the crack of his *** would constantly be peeking out. Henry's deep, chocolate colored hair was  that of an ancient Native American, long and nearly touched the tip of his belt if he stood up straight. No one knew how long he had been growing it out for. No one knew him any other way. He would comb his hair incessantly: before and after a shower, walking around the house, watching television with Betria on the couch, talking to friends when they came by, and when he drove to work, when he had it.

Normal work, nine to five work, did not work for Henry. "I need to be my own boss," he'd say. With that fact stubbornly put in place, Henry turned to being a handy man, a roofer, and a pioneer of construction. No one knew where he would get the jobs that he would get, he would just have them one day. And whenever he 'd finish a job, he'd complain about how much they'd shorted him, soon to move on to the next one. Henry never had to listen to anyone and, most of the time, he got free lunches out of it. It was a very strange routine, but it worked for him and Betria had no complaints as long as he was bringing some money in and keeping busy. After Santiago died, she became the head of the house, but really let her boys do whatever they wanted.

Henry took a quick shower and blow dried his hair, something he never did unless he was in a hurry. He had a job in the east bay at a sorority house near the Berkley campus. At the table, still in his pajamas, he ate three leftover chicken thighs, toast, and two over easy eggs. Betria was still in bed, awake and reading. Henry heard her two dogs barking and scratching on her bedroom door. He got up as he combed his damp hair, tugging and straining to get each individual knot out. When he opened the door, the smaller, thinner dog, Boy Boy, shot under his legs and to the front door where his toy was. The fat, beige, pig-like one waddled out beside Henry and went straight for its food bowl.

"Good morning," said Henry to Betria.

Betria looked at Henry over her glasses, "You eat already?"

"Yep," he announced, "Got to go to work." He tugged on a knot.

"That's good. Dondé?" Betria looked back down at her spanish TV guide booklet.

"Berkley somewhere," Henry said, bringing the comb smoothly down through his hair.

"That's good, that's good."

"OK!" Henry sighed loudly, shutting the door behind him. He walked back to the dinner table and finished his meal. Then, Betria shouted something from her room that Henry couldn't hear.

"What?" yelled Henry, so she could hear him over the television. She shouted again, but Henry still couldn't hear her. Henry got up and went back to her room, ***** dish in hand. He opened her door and looked at her without saying anything.

"Take the dogs out to ***," Betria told him, "Out the back, not the front."

"Yeah," Henry said and shut the door.

"Come on you dogs," Henry mumbled, dropping his dish in the sink. Betria always did everyones dishes. She called it "her exercise."

Henry let the two dogs out on the lawn. The sun was curling up into the sky and its heat had melted all of the frost on the lawn. Now, the grass was bright green and Henry barely noticed the dark brown dead spots. He watched as the fat beige one squatted to ***. It was too fat to lifts its own leg up. The thing was built like a tank or a sea turtle. Henry laughed to himself as it looked up at him, both of its eyes going in opposite directions, its tongue jutted out one corner of his mouth. Boy boy was on the far end of the lawn, searching for something in the bushes. After a minute, he pulled out another one of his toys and brought it to Henry. Henry picked up the neon green chew toy shaped like a bone and threw it back to where Boy boy had dug it out from. Boy boy shot after it and the fat one just watched, waddling a few feet away from it had peed and laid down. Henry threw the toy a couple more times for Boy boy, but soon he realized it was time to go.

"Alright!" said Henry, "Get inside. Gotta' go to work." He picked up the fat one and threw it inside the laundry room hallway that led to the kitchen and the rest of the house. Boy boy bounded up the stairs into the kitchen. He didn't need anyone lifting him up anywhere. Henry shut the door behind them and went to back to his room to get into his work clothes.

Henry's girlfriend was still asleep and he made sure to be quiet while he got dressed. Tia, Henry's girlfriend, didn't work, but occasionally would put up garage sales of various junk she found around town. She was strangely obsessed with beanie babies, those tiny plush toys usually made up in different costumes. Henry's favorite was the hunter. It was dressed up in camouflage and wore an eye patch. You could take off its brown, polyester hat too, if you wanted. Henry made no complaint about Tia not having a job because she usually brought some money home somehow, along with groceries and cleaning the house and their room. Betria, again, made no complain and only wanted to know if she was going to eat there or not for the day.

A boat sized bright blue GMC sat in the street. This was Henry's car. The stick shift was so mangled and bent that only Henry and his older brother could drive it. He had traded a new car stereo for it, or something like that. He believed it got ten miles to the gallon, but it really only got six or seven. The stereo was the cleanest piece of equipment inside the thing. It played CD's, had a shoddy cassette player, and a decent radio that picked up all the local stations. Henry reached under the seat and attached the radio to the front panel. He never left the radio just sitting there in plain sight. Someone walking by could just as soon as put their elbow into the window, pluck the thing out, and make a clean 200 bucks or so. Henry wasn't that stupid. He'd been living there his whole life and sure enough, done the same thing to other cars when he was low on money. He knew the tricks of every trade when it came to how to make money on the street.

On the road, Henry passed La Rosa, the Mexican food mart around the corner from the house. Two short, tanned men stood in front of a stand of CD's, talking. He usually bought pirated music or movies there. One of the guys names was Bertie, but he didn't know the other guy. He figured either a customer or a friend. There were a lot of friends in this neighborhood. Everyone knew each other somehow. From the bars, from the grocery, from the laundromat, from the taco stands or from just walking around the streets at night when you were too bored to stay inside and watch TV. It wasn't usually safe for non-locals to walk the streets at night, but if you were from around there and could prove it to someone that was going to jump you, one could usually get away from losing a wallet or an eyeball if you had the proof. Henry, to people on the street, also went as Monk. Whenever he would drive through the neighborhood, the window open with his arm hanging out the side, he would usually hear a distant yell of "Hey Monk!" or "What's up Monk!". Henry would always wave back, unsure who's voice it was or in what direction to wave, but knowing it was a friend from somewhere.

There was heavy traffic on the way to Berkley and as he waited in line, cursing his luck, he looked over at the wet swamp, sitting there beside highway like a dead frog. A few scattered egrets waded through the brown water, their long legs keeping their clean white bodies safe from the muddy water. Beyond the swamp laid the pacific and the Golden Gate bridge. San Francisco sat there too: still, majestic, and silver. Next to the city, was the Bay Bridge stretched out over the water like long gray yard stick. Henry compared the Golden Gate's beauty with the Bay Bridge. Both were beautiful in there own way, but the Bay Bridge's color was that of a gravestone, while the Golden Gate's color was a heavy red, that made it seem alive. Why they had never decided to pain the Bay Bridge, Henry had no idea. He thought it would look very nice with a nice coat of burgundy to match the Golden gate, but knew they would never spend the money. They never do.

After reeling through the downtown streets of Berkley, dodging college kids crossing the street on their cell phones and bicyclists, he finally reached the large, A-frame house. The house was lifted, four or five feet off the ground and you had to walk up five or seven stairs to get to the front door. Surrounded by tall, dark green bushes, Henry knew these kids had money coming from somewhere. In the windows hung spinning colored glass and in front of the house was an old-timey dinner bell in the shape of triangle. Potted plants lined the red brick walkway that led to the stairs. Young tomatoes and small peas hung from the tender arms of the stems leaf stalks. The lawn was manicured and clean. "Must be studying agriculture or something," Henry thought, "Or they got a really good gardener."

He parked right in front of the house and looked the building up and down, estimating how long it would take to get the old shingles off and the new one's on. Someone was up on the deck of the house, rocking back and forth in an old wooden chair. He listened to the creaking wood of the chair and the deck, judging it would take him two days for the job. Henry knew there was no scheduled rain, but with the Bay weather, one could never be sure. He had worked in rain before - even hail - and it never really bothered him. The thing was, he never strapped himself in and when it would rain and he was working roofs, he was afraid to slip and fall. He turned his truck off, got out, and locked both of the doors. He stepped heavily up the walkway and up the stairs. The someone who was rocking back and forth was a skinny beauty with loose jean shorts on and a thick looking, black and red plaid shirt. She had long, chunky dread locks and was smoking a joint, blowing the smoke out over the tips of the bushes and onto the street. Henry was no stranger to the smell. He smoked himself. This was California.

"Who're you?" the dreaded girl asked.

"I'm the roofer," Henry told her.

The girl looked puzzled and disinterested. Henry leaned back on his heels and wondered if the whole thing was lemon. She looked beyond him, down on the street, awkwardly annoying Henry's gaze. The tools in Henry's hands began to grow heavy, so he put them down on the deck with a thud. The noise seemed to startle the girl out of whatever haze her brain was in and she looked back at Henry. Her eyes were dark brown and her skin was smooth and clear like lake water. She couldn't have been more then 20 or 21 years old. Henry realized that he was staring and looked away at the various potted plants near the rocking chair. He liked them all.

"Do you know who called you?" She took a drag from her joint.

"Brett, " Henry told her, "But they didn't leave a last name."

For a moment, the girl looked like she had been struck across the chin with a brick, but then her face relaxed and she smiled.

"Oh ****," she laughed, "That's me. I called you. I'm Brett."

Henry smiled uneasily and picked up his tools, "Ok."

"Nice to meet you," she said, putting out her hand.

Henry awkwardly put out his left hand, "Nice to meet you too."

She took another drag and exhaled, the smoke rolling over her lips, "Want to see the roof?"

The two of them stood underneath a five foot by five foot hole. Henry was a little uneasy by the fact they had cleaned up none of the shattered wood and the birds pecking at the bird seed sitting in a bowl on the coffee table facing the TV. The arms of the couch were covered in bird **** and someone had draped a large, zebra printed blanket across the middle of it. Henry figured the blanket wasn't for decoration, but to hide the rest of the bird droppings. Next to the couch sat a large, antique lamp with its lamp shade missing. Underneath the dim light, was a nice portrait of the entire house. Henry looked away from the hole, leaving Brett with her head cocked back, the joint still pinched between her lips, to get a closer look. There looked to be four in total: Brett, a very large man, a woman with longer, thick dread locks than Brett, and a extremely short man with a very large, brown beard. Henry went back
The path to your own heart has a bridge that you built, but can't cross
The river flowing underneath strikes up currents in your mind that cause you to feel lost
These wavelengths of confusion **** you right in
You forget about the bridge in the first place, and start swimming against them
In perfect theory you just want to reach the other side,
But nothing's ever perfect, right?
Especially when this is something you started yourself, and backwards seems like down and confusion takes you south
For the winter, and now you're in freezing water
[This is dangerous ground]
If the ice freezes over
You will be held captive under
There are equal people on the other side of the bridge you built
Asking for your hand
But you won't reach out
You doubt the help that the ones who love you offer
They're right in front of you,
But you don't even bother
"I can do this alone"
"Everyone look at me"
"I'm the King of my bridge"
Wait, did you forget you were drowning?
A potential King, maybe
But for now that's a fantasy
If you reached out your hand
You might find fellow company
Of people who are riding the exact same wave
Of people who also are lost in the game
We all built a bridge, and it's hard to get over
Think of how much easier it would be to get across it together
Two is better than one,
And that's why we are divided
Take pride in your individuality
But don't be mislead by it
The currents are only as strong as you want them to be
If anything I'll tell you, I found this in me
I believe it so much
It's why I am writing
This isn't just a poem about a boy and a bridge
This is my vision, and I want to actually teach it
And I will, absolutely nothing is in my way
I'm still crossing my bridge to this very day
It's all part of this journey,
And I didn't get where I am alone
We are equal parts of this river
And I want to help sail us home
Kalesh Kurup Dec 2016
I again got stuck in the bridge today
In the Upper Plateau bridge-
The bridge  across  the lagoon.
Stuck, with no breathing space to manoeuvre
All three lanes facing forward, chock a block
Cars of all sizes and costs strewn around

It's always like that, faced ahead on the wheel
Neither space to turn left to see anything right;
Nor to the right, for anything left...
When on the steering wheel
You are responsible, not just for your actions;
But the whole world around.
For the car in the front, back and the
Sides, who cannot move until you move.
Slowly you realise, 'it was never a
Bridge across for ever"

There has been this urge,
Many a time, to break out and run, though
You are stuck in the bridge, no room to
Often it's like a circle eating itself;
Beginning losing the end and vice versa!

But then comes the thoughts of the school fees, the maintenance, the rent and the upkeep
You are stuck on the bridge, mate
Stay put, until the snarls open its own

All rights reserved (c) A K Kalesh Kumar 2016
Concept of left without anything  right and right where nothing left is borrowed from a friend.
Kathleen D Weibe Feb 2010
Alone once again on the Lovers Bridge in Cheshire, Mass. Looking down some 30 ft above a small narrow stream. Remembering the time my love and I holding hands sitting on the old bridge.  He carved our names at the 15th tie.  Looking at it as the weather and time nearly worn it away. This is where my love had proposed to my heart as we were on a path to live for one another.   I said yes with tears in my eyes my soul leaping for joy.  The old bridge barley stands today, but the day he was taken from me; I never returned to old lovers bridge that he had named.  It wasn't till years and years later when I gathered the strength and courage to walk those lonely steps with out him by my side holding my hand.    I sat in the same spot the day he asked me that meaningful question.  I heard his tone, and saw his handsome face in my head smiling at me. He was so nervous he almost dropped the ring.  I can not forget the times we had picnics on the old bridge laughing and just being ourselves.  Today I wonder if he knew how much I loved him and wished he didn't have to leave. In my hand I held the ring that he nearly dropped some 20 years earlier.    With a kiss and my prayer to him hoping God kept him safe.  dropped the ring and walked those lonely steps across lovers bridge that he named.
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
A Bridge

As a teenager we lived on a rented farm just one hill over we started down the property of the adjacent
Farm at the bottom of the hill we came across the remains of a bridge nothing was left but the steel it

Was rusty and there was so much undergrowth it would have been missed if we had been walking
Fifteen feet to either side it created a mood the knowing that at a time in the past others commonly

Traveled this as a road of necessity now I think of the pastor’s words when he spoke my mother went
From the horse and buggy to the space age yes what a trip in this hidden now forgotten bridge and road

The weeds and nature reclaimed what man disturbed the life once lived now lost and forgotten a finality
Of crossing a bridge a future layered with progress change a different order for sure idyllic days the

pace slower more deliberate harder because modern conveniences were still in the future but there is
A raw connection when you work closely with animals put the harness on the team of horses the barn

A few bins of grain a hay mount with fresh hay how the ladder is worn from use smooth and shinny we
Will tone it down the slight hint of manure straw in the stalls mix it all together it makes up the whole

Farm with a theme of richness and then the memory of their voices even some conversations are
Remembered it can involuntarily bring stillness to today’s hustle and bustle of speed and their white hair

Wasn’t a point of disdain but one of honor you looked upon them as heroes hanging on each word they
Spoke slow and even recounted earlier days times and there content held you spell bound and it wasn’t

Just because you were young and easily impressed you stood in the middle of the bridge of time you
Flowed back and then they would shift and speak of the future then you flowed on this wave of

Expectation of what the future would hold guarding your mind from the awful truth that you would be
Alone because their journey as glorious as it was had the markings of coming to an end but in the mean

Time they filled your world with thrills and contentment and for the rest you looked forward to the day
When you would meet them on the bridge that started in time and the far end was eternal never would
You know separation again
Ria Nagpal Jun 2013
The heavens were an infinite expanse of mourning veils,
Untainted by a moon;
Or possibly even by the stars.
The air was frosty,
And hard-hearted,
Gnawing at my flesh.
But yet I simply had to proceed.
I was feeling trapped and helpless,
But yet I saw certainly no other possibility.
I realized I had to pass The Black Bridge,
To seek the blessed springs,
That possess miraculous powers to alleviate
Just about all afflictions, torments and woes -
Which drown human conscience and faith,
Further and further,
Into an abyss,
Deeper and deeper,
Where they are seized by devils.
I had to pass through hell,
To get to heaven.

The Black Bridge was somewhere no soul ever wanders,
Somewhere that has been lost,
Somewhere that has been silenced and suppressed,
Victimised by the murderous evil.
Will the path I have chosen,
Devour me completely and make me lifeless once again?
**** my grandmother,
My only hope in this chaotic world?
Why should I have faith in the cursed tongue,
Of those who have never crossed,
This saintly white yet black bridge?
Maybe, just maybe..
The Black Bridge could possibly lend a hand in my quest,
By keeping me safe and out of harm's way,
Banishing all who embraced sin and depravity.

The wind howled in despair,
And the oceans crashed violently upon the shore,
As a storm began to brew.
I could hear every footstep of mine,
Every anxious beat of my heart,
Every breath I took.
No demons had crossed my path.
A ray of hope flickers in the sky.
I am not the Shade.
I walk on the path of enlightenment.
The tale of The Black Bridge was a lie.
Never have I seen such ignorance or contempt
For somewhere so innocent and kind.
Never shall I make this mistake again.

The Black Bridge was heaven in disguise of hell -
A disguise blackened by the sin of lies,
And unveiled by the illumination of goodwill.
All that seems dark, dire and deathly,
May not be so bitter after all.
I had to pass through heaven,
To get to heaven.
Pure white in flight
brown rivers rush
a seagull

Swooping under the bridge
a pure white flash

Brown river flowing
under the dark bridge
white gull

Seagull swoops
under the bridge of brown
pure white flash

White moment
an arched shape of pure white

White flying flash
in the shape of an arc
a seagull

Under the bridge
one white flower blooms

Below the dark bridge
an anemone flowers
full moon

Brown waters
the river flows fast
one wood anemone
I caught sight of a seagull swooping under the bridge, the moment I leant over to look down into the brown water flowing fast, it seemed a moment I wanted to record somehow, so I thought the short haiku-like poems would do. Do you have alternatives?
bee Aug 2014
the bridge says no,
wishes you cross it now

just talk about the bridge
share your feelings about the bridge
communicate, inform
relate and connect
(get it across)

because that bridge would rather it burn
and you take that step
and get across
Kj Kennedy Jun 2016
Green chain fence on either side
Concrete path for bikes to glide
Rapids churning far below
****** Bridge is were we'd go

Spray can pictures on its span
'Ozzy' spelt in mangled plaid
'Iron Maiden' painted red
To ****** Bridge and then to bed

Tired laughing, crying fits
Flashing censored body bits
Gladiator crayfish fights
****** Bridge on summer nights

On this bridge all kids would go
To feel the sun and swim below
Now it stands all alone
To ****** Bridge I'll always know
Aaron LaLux Jun 2017
London Bridge Is Falling Down

“London Bridge is falling down,
falling down falling down,
London Bridge is falling down,
my fair lady.”,

nursery rhymes,
don’t seem to sound the same anymore,
are changing like the changing of the guard,

another terrorist attack today,
as hatred continues spreads like a disease,
the Devil’s in the details see 3/6 was the date,
and 6 killed wait 3 6 6 must be the mark of The Beast,

and they say the 6 were innocent,
but no one is innocent,
and I’m sorry I’m not sorry,
I mean what I said,

and this isn’t to disrespect the dead,
or the loved ones they left behind,
because we all have people that love us,
and we all mourn when someone we love dies,

so no I don’t mean any offense,
I’m just trying to get you to see the big picture,
thousands of civilians have been killed in Syria and Iraq,
by UK and US coalition forces,

but where’s the outrage on that,
there is none we all just  stay silent,
we go out to bars and party like it’s 1999 2 years before 9/11,
but Prince is dead as is MJ and no one’s saying stop the violence,

and no man is an island,
just like no one is innocent,
one side just has more money to **** with,
that’s the only difference,

and please don’t take this the wrong way,
I mean I am just as guilty as the rest,
I am a white American male,
I am an unapologetic NWO Capitalist,

I love the system,
and I reap it’s benefits,
but I know where my tax dollars go,
and that’s to bombs and jets,

have you heard enough yet,
are you ready to accuse me of being insensitive,
that’s fine throw your stones,
blame me for the hatred because we all need an enemy,

we all want to point the finger elsewhere,
no one wants to blame themselves,
but I tell you what dropping more bombs,
or retaliating in any way isn’t going to help,

and this is a warning to the terrorist too,
you keep attacking us we're gonna keep bombing you,
and we do keep bombing them but it hasn't helped yet,
I mean how do you threaten someone with nothing to lose?

How do you threaten someone with nothing to lose,
how do we stop the cycle of violence by being violent,
extremism isn’t the root cause it’s just the symptom,
terrorism didn’t start with ISIS,

I just,
want world peace nothing less nothing more,
it seems we’ve seen this all before,

Roman Persian British,
I’ll tell you again,
no one is innocent,

and I’m as scared as anyone,
because I know it’s only a matter of time,
our Empire’s moment of truth is coming,
like the punchline in a nursery rhyme,

and nursery rhymes,
don’t seem to sound the same anymore,
are changing like the changing of the guard,

“London Bridge is falling down,
falling down falling down,
London Bridge is falling down,
my fair lady.”…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
You jumped into the water under the bridge
People watched you fall through the air
I've been haunted by the image
Because I was also there
Holding on the the railing until my knuckles turned white
Screaming your name into the night

You jumped into the water under the bridge
No one understood why
I've been haunted by the image
I've been haunted by you and I
Wasn't what we had enough to make it through
You had nothing to live for, while I was living for you

You jumped into the water under the bridge
The highest one in our town
I've been haunted by the image
Replaying over and over your body falling down
I wish I could have grabbed your hand and held you back
I lost you to the water, cold and black

You jumped into the water under the bridge
One decision can change a life
I've been haunted by the image
Your decision took you up into the skies
I walked past that place today and wished you were here
but you jumped into the water under the bridge
and I watched you fall through the air
This is not a subject people like to talk about, but sadly it is part of the reality today so I wanted to write something..
Copyright @ Johanna Magdalena
Careena Nov 2014
I only see your shoes at first
Then I look up to witness all of you
You overpower me with your presence
Just standing there, waiting

You waited for me at my place
On a bridge on the Susquehanna
That flimsy little bridge
That rocked us to and fro

The bridge started to sway
In the tumultuous winds
I said I was scared
But you did not ever go

You shocked me on that bridge
Our moment on the Susquehanna
Because you held me in that moment
Like you'd never let me go

You looked at me and said
"I just want you to always know..."
On our bridge on the Susquehanna
That rocked us to and fro

But after, you left
Without me knowing what I should know
And now I'm here on the Susquehanna
Trying hard to let you go
Only a dream. The Other One
She said it's "Brittany, not Britney,"
as we walked over the Mathematical Bridge.
I asked her if that was a reference,
but there's more than just a difference in nomenclature.

She said, "My name is Brittany Etheridge
but there is also a Britney Etheridge,
and she's a walking disaster."
I said "Hey, I never knew..."
as I looked into the river.

"Did you know about this bridge?" she asked me,
and I answered, "It's just a way between shores."
But there's always more to what is there, there's history.
"It was here before computers, before the wars,
before Britney Etheridge."

I could see my reflection in the water below,
warping my face with the current, and
it left me with nothing but a desire to know the history of all things,
but mainly Brittany Etheridge.

She told me, "Isaac Newton built this bridge
without any screws or bolts. Now that's engineering."
And I agreed with a nod and a smile.
"Britney Etheridge wouldn't care though."

She kept talking after that, but all the while I thought
about the bridge, and how there're screws here now.
She told me, "Isaac Newton built this bridge
without any screws or bolts."
Abhinay Renny Nov 2015
In between the bridge

Like a flash
crossed the childhood

Was brat
whom everyone adore

had a gang to hang on
nothing to nag on

In between the bridge
of childhood and adulthood

A new view
of the world

Got only few
to share and care

In between the bridge of
adaptation and habitation

I'm a loner
chosen to choose it
sometimes, I love it

I shut the world
to be in my world
dancing to the rhythm
enhancing the life

In between the bridge
of solitude and serenity

Crying to complete the incomplete
regret, is what I don't get it
Nothing at fullest
Not happy, not sad

In between the bridge
of fulfillment and contentment

I'm on a roller coaster ride
Rolling with problems
Riding the life

Crossing the bridges
to the distant destination
Afrodita Nestor Jun 2016
Running over a bridge that falls apart behind us
With  no turning back
Nor a button for rewind
No magic pen
Nor eraser for the things we don’t like
Only forward hoping for
That the new day will bring us more
As we run over a bridge that falls apart

Walking over a bridge that falls apart behind us
Is what we do
As the pace gets slower
And we forget how to run
With no wind in our backs
Letting burden from our past
Take over our lives
As we walk over a bridge that falls apart

Crawling over a bridge that falls apart behind us
Is the only thing we know
As we take our lives to go
The good and the bad
The smiles and the tears
Every single moment
That has made us real
As we crawl over a bridge that falls apart

Flying over a bridge that falls apart behind us
Is something we are wishing for
As soon as we lose some of the burden
We drag with us
As a memento of a future
That has already passed
Dreaming about lost freedom
As we fly over a bridge that falls apart
Copyright Afrodita Nestor
Gaffer May 2015
The man on the bridge is in between life and death.
Such a fine line.
Where did the hope end.
Did it begin.

The man on the bridge is in between life and death.
Is it too late.
Would words change your fate
Would you wait

The man on the bridge is in between life and death
The moment has come
Seconds to die
Just tell me why

The man on the bridge is in between life and death
You don’t want to know
Is it worth your life
I think so

The man on the bridge is in between life and death
He has made up his mind
Thank you for being so kind
The man on the bridge.

— The End —