The Bridge Burner
When the fires hot it's hard to not burn.
The bridges of trust on the cusp of a turn.
Though the fire is just it shows no return.
To the life that we love far above our concern.
On one side is a land of gluttonous waste.
On the other another lonely dark place.
If its not perceived when thrown in the face.
Then it seems quite indeed that were at a good pace.
So we stand in the middle and the time it goes by.
The fire still burns, the weather stays dry.
Its not if you win, it's all in the try.
Do we wave to the stars our final goodbye?
Poem by: Dian Holmes
