My future is a bridge
In the process of being built,
By swollen, dirt caked ingers
With heavy bricks nd clots of mud.
Safety tape block off the constrction zone
But feet still find their way to the edge
Where they pick and kick the bricks away
And carelssly toss out the tools.
|My bridge is begnning to crumble,
As if my pathway was spread ithe dark.
But my future might have looked a little brighter
Had I layed my bricks with cement.
