There Are Some Bridges
There are some bridges. They don’t really open.
Higher than pyramids, and mightier than steel,
They stand colossal, bringing people closer—
the ones with closed hearts, too afraid to feel.
There is a river. Its water isn’t blue, though.
It breathes no Baltic breeze, and there’s no silt in it.
Yet as it flows, it takes away your sorrows,
And heals your wounds a little, bit by bit.
When April comes, the city smells like honey,
And fireflies are dancing in the haze.
More people come here thinking of their loved ones,
As glimmers on the water blur their gaze.
You can start dancing here—no one’s even watching,
You can start singing like tomorrow’s May.
But most importantly, no one is here to hurt you.
There is no one. At last. Go on. You may.
