THE BRIDGE

I stand

at the gate of tomorrow

looking for the toll keeper of knowledge.

The calendar’s tale

has tainted

my fancy’s vest of eve

and I remember

when this bridge of sight

lead

to more than thorns.

But the night

of my illusions

approaches.

So I carry my fear

stalking like a ravenous predator

into the distant

refuse of uncertainty,

regarding a day

as footsteps

stumbling and forgotten.