Under the Bridges
I wept my way to a wonderland
And at the gates took a weary stand.
Those children lost that came behind,
I sang to them of masters blind
And they passed away, forever away
And the silent gates with chains I bind.
I’ll measure moments till that distant day
When those children turn back down the way.
Lit are the wind-caped skies by bolts
When light from darkling cloud revolts
But our tales, our tales don’t end this way,
Scattered like the spring-pricked cloud
Down like rain, from branches bowed
Autumn’s ill-chanced just born leaves
Shall fall away, all fall away.
There would be a road under the bridge,
But not anymore, no more, no more.
There would be some upon the span
That I may see from underneath,
Lain on the grass, lain on the heath.
And I look up through the road above
And see little feet all passing by
Like from the earth, clouds pass on high.
<This is an experiment in style and I'm not overly sure about it. I've always tried, and liked to play with words and sounds but this was a kind of vague metaphor.....see if you can catch it. The last time I tried this it was not well taken (check my portfolio for 'On Winter's Aging'). So, if you come by this do provide some form of feedback as I need to know at this stage.>
