The Bridge
A Poem by Regina Taylor
The Bridge
In the vale of her sorrow, where shadows grow deep,
Her eyes, pools of emotion, weep forth as she treads,
A bridge arching over the stream of forgotten sleep,
Where whispers of yesteryear softly her spirit leads.
Her countenance, once bright with the bloom of youth’s cheer,
Now a canvas of wrinkles, each line a tale of despair.
Tears, like rivers in springtime, carve furrows so clear,
A map of her heartaches that no one would dare.
Her gown, a rich velvet, in whispers of night,
Dances ‘round her small frame, a dance of the damned,
Her steps, so unsure, as she wanders in plight,
Her soul weary, her spirit so strangely crammed.
The cold world, it surrounds her, as flurries take flight,
A ballet of ice, playing out in the air,
Her breath, a soft vapor, escaping the fight,
In the gloom, still it lingers, a silent, forlorn prayer.
Centurions of darkness, the trees stand so high,
Guarding her solace with branches so stark,
Yet, in their silent vigil, they offer a sigh,
A comfort that whispers, “You’re never alone in the dark.”
The crow, a black sentinel, hovers on high,
A silent observer of moments so stark,
Its feathers like whispers that cut through the sky,
A stark reminder that life’s not a lone spark.
In the window’s soft glow, a beacon so faint,
Waits a warmth that she craves, a light unseen,
A sanctuary, a promise that’s not yet painted,
Where shadows retreat, and her sorrow has been.
How long has she wandered in this abyss?
Her bones groan with the weight of the years,
Each step, a battle, a testament to her plight,
A pilgrimage driven by pain and tears.
But hope, a small ember, refuses to die,
Within the chill of her heart, it burns,
It whispers sweet nothings, a comforting lie,
That somewhere beyond, waits a new dawn to discern.
The stream sings a lullaby, timeless and old,
A melody of peace, of moments so rare,
It caresses her soul, her spirits to fold,
In its rhythm, a comfort that gently prepares.
Oh, the tears that have fallen, a river so vast,
Could flood the world over, so deep is her pain,
Yet still, she endures, though each moment seems cast,
In the ironclad chains of despair’s refrain.
Does the fates’ cruel hand deem her unworthy of cheer?
Or is this the price for the life she’s been given?
With each breath, she wonders if this is the last,
Her heart, a battleground where hope and despair driven.
But she cries to the heavens, “Save me, I pray,
From this endless night, from this waking dream,
Let me feel the warmth of the sun’s golden ray,
Ease the ache of this cold, frozen stream.”
The wind carries whispers of comfort so faint,
Promises of warmth, of a brighter day,
But for now, she must bear the burden, the taint,
Of a destiny not of her own choosing, but faint.
Till the next dawn, she walks, her soul in a trance,
Guided by whispers of a distant call,
In the dance of shadows, in the embrace of the dance,
Her heart yearns for the warmth of the sun’s gentle draw.
The bridge, a symbol, of moments so fleeting,
Of life’s trials, of moments so stark,
With each step she’s retreating, yet ever proceeding,
In the hope that her sorrow will soon be outshone.
The crow, it takes flight, leaving her in the night,
Its shadow a whisper of comfort, a sign,
In the quiet, she finds the strength to keep tight,
Her grip on the rope of time’s entwine.
For in the silence, a promise is born,
That not all is lost, not all is in vain,
In the heart.
Regina Taylor has been blessed with the ability to use words to express her thoughts and emotions for as long as she can remember. Writing has always come naturally to her as a way to release negative energy and experience positive energy.
She strives to maintain balance when putting her thoughts and feelings into words, honoring both the positive and the negative. Throughout the years, she has witnessed just how powerful words can be, capable of lifting someone up or tearing them down. When written in a sacred manner and woven together with the elements each person leans on in their workings, the wisdom of magic comes through. Thoughtful reflection and careful wordcraft are important to her practice.