The Bridge

Spring’s sun ignites hope, warms the land,
dissolves mountain mists, burns off clouds,
snow melts, ice sheets slide, glacier calves,
moraine and scree borne away.

Wide is the river, swift it flows, 
the gravel shifts, deep it twists,
treacherous banks, rapids fall,
on crest of waves fallen trees surge. 

“Come travellers, pay your toll, cross here”,
the ferryman smiles, “Our river guides
found a safe place, there we will cross,
no bridge needed, too few lives lost.”

This is the story of the bridge;
each foundation bears names of the lost,
warns us of hubristic leaders 
who betray us at grievous cost.

Oh the ineffable wrenching of my soul,
I’m perplexed how simplistic mantras 
entwine the peoples trust, blinds them
to the reality at hand.

Wisdom lifts her voice, she cries out:
“Who will be bold, build bridges
pioneering alternative ways
over life’s wildest rivers?”

© Craig A Roberts, 2022

A poetic insight from Slow Wisdom - A Forgotten Virtue 

Photo: AdobeStock

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