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A Bridge

And yes, I know, really well,
that life is a bridge between quicksand and deep sea.

I know its temperament like I know the face of the moon.
I know it because, sometimes, it blows as winter air around us,
permeating our being gently, and soothingly,
and we inhale every bit of its scents as rose, as colorful air,
and feel ensconced in the arms of effervescent stars
as if cushioned away from all reeling about a world at sea.

Other times, in alternate season, life,
like a whirlwind rips through us
as though we are of the stature of a weightless wet leaf
and we are blown into pieces,
blown away like ashes chastised and chased away,
and then flushed down by gravity into a gloomy void,
where darkness breeds and grooms its young.

In this twilight zone between a mountain and a valley floats life
flanked by molecules of dull and sparkling light. It could bark as a furious storm with staccato thunders or whistle as cheerful wind with fingers that tickle.

So true; life is an ageless twin of medieval saga,
primitive yet endless;
in its coolest a pleasant face of innocent toddler,
while in its scariest the deathly fangs of a viper.
Always and often a fixture on the edges of chipping away time,
always present yet feels invisible as celestial empire.

Yes, life, I know your many changing faces that revolve as if on a gyre roped in bright and dark light.
I most certainly can diagram your faceless angles
yet with piercing eyes of a summer wind that blows every which way and disappearing into darkening cloud to fall down
as water that swims along a channel of sweet and sour,
and we are destined to drink of it just as it is.

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Comments

i like all the connections you were able to make about life. well done. they were placed into the poem well. sometimes is a little jumpy between each connection but it was well done.

Thanks. I take everyone of your kind words very seriously.

chimaono

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