I stand on the bridge.
It is thundering madly in my brain.
It is thundering madly- down comes the rain.
I laugh towards the heavens.
The bridge is wood and fragile.
The bridge is wood and fragile in the midnight skies,
Into the air the smoke does rise.
I am burning it with my feet planted on the wood.
The fire burns engrosses me,
The fire burns me to a crisp,
My watch melts off my wrist,
My clothes inflame.
What can I say,
I like to burn my bridge's.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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hmm, very interesting poem. i like it, and i like how you echoed the first line of each stanza. good job
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WOw very random but I seemed to like it nice piece different but captivating!
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If it's your own bridge to burn, you are surely more than welcome to limit points of access and make yourself your own little island of sorts. Of course, as you say, maybe there are times we've stood to close to the flames while those bridges burn. Interesting poem, and makes me think about it in several different ways.
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I like the concept. It's a sort of erratic but its a a great a concept. Good job
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wow...
such a great poem.
mabee a little sycotic.
lmao..
but thats okay...
i can be like that too. haha -
While reading this I got a song in my head, maybe you've heard it...Broken Bridges from the movie with the same name. Some bridges are better to burn, and some you just have to cross and move on.
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