I. Each night we step out on the bridge of our mind.
Our steps are heavy from the weight of the day.
Vignettes of images and sounds;
of things we said or did,
or wished we had or had not.
We drop them like markers as we journey to the other side.
Waking moments as hard as steel.
They propel us to the other side,
and will guide us upon our return.
The bridge is shrouded in fog
and I wonder what awaits me.
II. The bridge spans the waters of my mind.
As I slip away with each step,
one reality ends and another begins.
The fog swirls and lifts and forms are revealed,
both strange and familiar.
What do I see?
What is? What will be?
What is me?
Where the hard truths come to light!
III. On the bridge I'm an observer of me
in a new dimension of self.
I can see and I can feel!
I can fly and sometimes fall!
I search but never find!
I am chased but never caught!
I experience joy and I know terror!
And it all seems so real except...
I never get to the end.
The forms shake me and wake me.
And that makes me sad and sometimes glad.
The bridge, so long in crossing,
where my demons hide,
where my desires thirst,
is recrossed in an instant.
And I am awake in the night.
IV. I live on both sides of the bridge in fog.
And which is more real?
Each time I cross I leave something behind,
where my soul is revealed,
where my mind wanders free.
I am somehow different if ever so slightly.
As I spend my day preparing to cross again.