Thursday, July 17, 2014

The Bridge
By
Jane Seatter
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In the night
while the birds and beasts slept
and all the cities were still
the water whirled and frothed
making the crossing a nightmare.

The wooden plank
swung in the blue-black breeze
and the yellow moon
danced in the swirling river.

Each step was a step of terror
and each breath in
could have been the last
if a branch was to crack
or the frayed rope gave up
its tenuous hold.

In that night
and many other nights
the end was never reached.

Instead, the reel of horror
left her balancing,
swaying,
crying out for her life
in the moment before dawn.





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