The Bridge

There is a bridge

at the end of the world

and none who cross

return.

Tales are told

of the other side,

but none who tell them

know for sure.

 

There is a part

of each of us

that stays after we’re gone,

a piece of dust,

the universe

allows to linger on.

 

If space between

the energy

is made of dark

and the unknown,

the how much of us

is made

of undiscovered parts?

Not sure we’ll ever know.


At least not here,

in this world,

that seems to be

more mystery

than certainty

to me.

 

When I finally see the bridge

waiting out there;

will I cross it,

or collapse it,

like so many I’ve done here?

 

I’m roving through legitimate mistakes,

it takes so long to break

the bars and then escape

from this arbitrary,

imaginary, divine singularity.

Redefined,

it unwinds,

inspiring much hilarity.

 

Our small minds

try so hard

to wrap themselves

in infinity,

but we’re still

only multi-celled,

mutated anomalies;

at least that’s what we’re teaching this century

 

I’ve got a wonderful idea,

something’s finally coming clear;

we’ll find this bridge

to a certain somewhere

and we’ll bring our living there.

 

It’s a strategic position,

once we take it,

then it’s ours.

We’ll position our armies

on the threshold of such power.

 

We’ll seize the link to somewhere

we’re all going anyway,

’cause what’s the fun of mystery

without blowing it away?

 

The cause it lost to reason,

we’ve abandoned anyway.

When we’re gone

the universe will still be the same.

That’s what truly scares us,

why we’re so afraid.

You really are the difference you make.

Every step along the bridge is a leap of faith.

 

HG -2016

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