A Bridge Is

CWK

Here we are – standing
‘pon a bridge slightly slanting
south –  but, we are looking north.
I had not considered bridges before
this one started rocking back and forth;
henceforth, I shall consider them more,
and in a different light.
I shall dream of bridges in the night.

We stand, with wild wind whipped in our face:

against a rusted railing braced;
upon creaking wooden footpath;
by wind and gravity displaced:
counting on mirth to conquer math;
leaning forward; footsteps traced, retraced –
here we stand, in timid embrace –
like to fall, if not for grace.

A bridge is a shouting piece of space

which at once demands
a traveler take a step, or stand:
take a step , or choose right there to land;
flee, or else, be content, to be;
race, or else, erase; take grace, or else, disgrace;

As for my house, and as for me,

I chose to look life in the face,
and live in the world really real.
I decided to decide how I feel.

As for me, I chose to step, and not refuse

the roadway riddled ripe with clues
of adventures lining up in queues.
I chose laughter in spite of all bad news.
I chose to either win or lose.

I chose to heed the voice –

there is, my dear, always a choice.

I chose to step, if even then, and even when, in weary shoes.
I chose to step; I chose to choose.