The Bridge, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Bridge

The Bridge

Standing at the edge on its darkened side
Feeling like a moth pulled into a flame
Staring at a glow with eyes opened wide
What’s its message attempting to proclaim

If I were to cross where next would I go
As my vision fails to pierce the bright light
Would it lead like the star of long ago
Can’t raise a foot due to a nervous fright

Not sure there’s a path to the Promised Land
A place not to be tempted anymore
Will there be rules that I will understand
Way too much thinking making my head sore

Reduced to a matter of faith and trust
Not a subject simply to be caucused

 

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