The winding road is littered with potholes,
Leaving broken rocks in parts.
Poor management but you simply can't
find the time to fix it.
In the beginning it is smooth, straight and easy going,
but soon signs bloom at either side.
You only notice the damage beneath you when
you're going too fast to
stop.
In the middle there is a bridge.
Built over a river canyon,
it is the only way to cross.
The only way to repair.
It is also broken.
Splintered planks spear the gap from your side.
You edge towards it, gingerly, scared of what is below.
The water is churning.
Vicious and desperate,
It is clawing against the sides,
Searching for purchase
That it is not allowed to find.
You tried to build the canyon higher and higher,
Hoping to create space to breathe, to build a bridge.
But it follows you,
And cuts pieces of you away,
Agonisingly slowly,
Never at once.
Always impatient,
But slow.
You are stuck there,
The river separating you from the other side.
The flimsy bridge was your one hope.
It's release was your trap.
One day you must face the river.
You know it.
Somehow the river knows it too.
The river has no soft edges,
But the canyon provides harsh, sharp rocks that
Threaten to catch you if you fall.
The only way in is to dive,
if you're brave enough.
No one knows how deep your river is,
how cold its hold is.
But freedom awaits.
It's worth the danger of getting hurt.
Wounds will heal with time.
And this land of potholes and broken bridges will be left behind.
YOU ARE READING
Attempting Brevity
PoetryA small collections of poems and stuff that I'm doing. Because I find I work better at writing stuff that is pretty short, I figured I could turn some stories I want to write into poems instead. Forgive me if it's a little shoddy, these are my first...
