The Bridge Of Year's Poem by James McLain

Under the Bridge of years,
The moon has closed it's blood red door.
And even under the bridge she is green silk,
To me.
Rivers and rivers.
Oceans and seas.
One last bridge, will you show it
to me?
I pray I ask of thee?

In which corner of the sky, is it now?
A horizontal groove along straight lines it moves.
Beyond the red grey walls,
It's as swollen as and as gentle as the breeze.
it Blows the silk off, one green leaf.
In the sun it gleams,

A prelude to laying down before I fall to sleep.
The bark soon curls it follows soon, I sleep.
The sun, the crows are here and roosting
and are unaware of my deep melancholy.

Again I pace and leave behind the bed.
Year after year and all the years I burned,
I know now that I must go on across the bridge.
Over the Bridge of Tears,
Away from the staircase of vainly jeweled hearts.
I regret the wasting of those years.