"The path you tread is narrow and the trumpets sheer and very high
the ravens all are watching from a vantage point nearby ”
- Cymbaline, Pink Floyd
There is a bridge we cannot see
a traveler’s bridge, a bridge
for those who walk for many miles
with staff for defense and for leaning,
with cheese and bread and water for feeding.
It has been there since before the race,
at one time a mere log across the span,
then mortared stone, and underneath
runs the bad blood and running time
of the stars in the sky and the
shadowed passages not chosen.
A bridge to a world in our mind,
a bridge to the myths left behind.
But beware the one beneath the bridge
who's job it is to grab the random crosser
who are called by the King beneath the mountain.