Life Is: The Bridges I Cross

January 6, 2011
Life is the bridges I cross
The ones that I set my feet on
And cross to the other side
The wide cobblestoned bridges
With walls where you lean over
And drop a coin into the river as you make a wish
The covered bridges
With peeling red paint and you pretend
That you're from the past
As you ride underneath the leaking roof
In your carriage
The rickety old wooden bridges
That are missing planks
Your mother warns you not to cross
But most of us do it anyway
Some of us fall
The swinging rope bridge
Over a canyon
Mustn't look down
Must go on
The fallen logs across a creek
Slippery with moss and fungi
Or dry and cracked with age
We hold out our arms to walk across
Keeping balance of the curving surface
Tiptoeing in the silence of the forest
The stony
The covered
The rickety
The rope
The fallen logs
Life is the bridges I cross
Whether or not I trust them
And the ones that I move past

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