I meet you at our bridge
upon the year's conclusion
to watch you burn the ropes:
the flame; a dark illusion.
It didn't have to be like this.
You could have stayed my friend
but now you turn your back on me
I see that it's the end.
The boards have crumbled,
the nails are full of rust,
our bridge is tumbling down
along with all our trust.
We each receive one strand of twine
two feet long and burned pitch black.
I watch as you toss yours away
and I know there's no going back.
1-14-13
