Sunday, 28 January 2024

Burning Bridges


A road sign near a burnt bridge

A disfigured arrow headed skyward 

A blazing sunset of glorious technicolour.


Soul seeps out of the ribs

Like a light winged songbird it flaps—

A junkyard of forgotten dreams.  

Now that a century has passed

  Now that a century has passed  You might as well feel tired even to rest. Tragedies aren’t so poignant  When staged a hundred times; Comed...