The Bridge

Deaf; but always listening
Mute; but it seems to say
cross over don't stop in the middle
there's hope across the bay. But sun set reveals

A shrinking shadow on the water far below and whispering
screams of desperation unable to cope with the status quo
from ghostly forms walking on the bridge with the golden name
invisible; but to each other; no more to cry in vain.

Like the wind that keeps on blowing
and the dust settles not
and the old man with a trumpet;
there's a tune he has forgot.
Like the rose that failed to open
now it's too late for it to bloom.
There's no song for them to sing;
it's too sad to have a tune.

The distant sound of a fog horn; a ship makes ready to sail.
A lonely cry in the darkness; another jumps over the rail.
Peace lay at the water and within no pain for sure.
The way to heaven beckons; like the flame of the Devils lure.

The water lapping at the distant shore
quiets the souls and the winds that roar,
for a moment; they felt the pain subside
as life ebbs on the evening tide.

The bridge at peace there is no hate
for those that jump from the golden gate,
it stands a symbol as time goes by
when they come to marvel or they come to die.

by Melvin G. Cornwell

Other poems of MELVIN G. CORNWELL (1)

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