Burnt Bridges and Clean Air

By lupus tenebrae

The air never felt as good or right
in the space of hour hands,
in time and place, I’m hunkered in lace,
and the mountain’s horizon expands.

The trees never stood as still or brave
in faces of paper mills
I’m hunkered in lace, in time and place,
and a oneness was found with the hills.

The bridge never burnt as white or hot
until the matches were lit,
in time and place, I’m hunkered in lace,
and it’s here in the soot I will sit.

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Published on Friday, March 2, 2012. Filed under: "Personal" and "Poetry"

Author's Note:

There's something cathartic in burning bridges, even if you can't go back the same way, maybe you're not meant to? Written in zanila rhyme verse, and the last piece for a bit.

Comments on "Burnt Bridges and Clean Air"

A former member wrote: yeah people can burn a bridge of steel with just utter disregaurd. i feel ya there. i havent been on in a while. i am no poet for sure when i read this kind of stuff. i can learn a few things definetly. peace man.
On Friday, March 2, 2012, dwells (4177) wrote:

Two messages perhaps: a bride left at the altar, and noble trees against the pulp mills (but they do replant and re-grow much of their own, as well as re-cycle 30% in newspapers now too). Very intriguing as always with the tilte perhaps in conflict as well (wooden bridges if burnable) - cheers!
On Friday, March 2, 2012, Ladyhawke (392) wrote:

Sometimes we need to burn bridges, sometimes be build them. It's a process. Slow, but constatntly moving. *hugs* Great to see you Jared.