The Bridge

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The soft tapping of the rain
On the hard metal doors
The captors of
The day’s horrors
Mangled bumpers
Near the dotted yellow line
With a windshield shattered
And covered in brine
All the way down
The country road
No one in sight
No stories told
The blinding headlights
Stared blankly to the sky
As slowly inside
The scuffle died
Family galore
Crowd to weep
For all they have
Are memories to keep
Four different lives
Whose collided in the past
Four different lives
Who failed to last






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