The Broken Bridge

Waking up in lonely years,

I'm plunged into a lifetime of judgement,

I waste days walking through mazes built for the masses,

I find solace in my night's sleep,

A particular night I have a beautiful dream,

Given the tools of a peasant I'm told to build a bridge,

Tired of venting, or complaining, I begin to work,

I realize, a bridge cannot support others, if it can't support itself,

This bridge I have built can never handle the stresses of such things,

I look at my smallish figure,

I feel the insecurities in my soul,

I realize that I am just a broken bridge, there are no discrepancies

I disapear into the bridge,

I realize your words are just a broken record,

Irrelevent to me as time is to the sun,

Most avoid my crippled structure,

Some try to walk across,

They're interested in my enigmatic manifestation,

They carve their names into me,

contain them with a heart,

leaving me with physical grafitti,

A group comes to see me everyday,

they talk to eachother about their lives,

they say their dreams,

confess their secrets,

I watch them grow,

I watch them laugh, I see them cry,

Then,

Just as quickly as they came,

They leave me,

Their names still in my skin,

My rusted bones still bearing the lives,

I miss their feet scuffling up and down my defunct layouts,

The echo of rocks skipping along the river that runs under me,

Although I am impassable and solitary,

I was once a home,

I once felt a warmth,

I once knew love,

I was once more than just a broken bridge,

More than just waiting scrap metal,

I awake to the sound of my alarm,

It's digital, mechanical beep, alerts me of what's to come,

I pass through grey halls and see lifeless lawns,

I think when I was more than just a face in the crowd,

When hope seemed to penetrate my bleek existence,

A sense of new beginnings permeated my soul,

Suddenly, my shoes feel far too big for what I've become.

 

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