Front On The Bridge

The north wind out of brain
Brings
Cold and
Icicles

The speeding
Arrow
Was a fervid
Prayer.

As it sped
Through the airy chills
The frost on the bridge
Creaked of suicides:
Brains that transform
To stones
The Poet Seer
Wanted to draw a line
A straight line
Then
He
Went
To
Sleep
On
A
Hard
Stone
To
Dream
Sub-conscious

by Emmanuel George Cefai

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