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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #1054937
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The Covered Bridge

It stood alone,
in a veil of grey.
The covered bridge
dream't of that day.

I could not see
past the rail.
The mist swirled round,
the senses fail.

No whisper of air,
no sound or sight.
All was still,
not day or night.

I stood alone,
beside the rail.
Like the bridge,
a ship at sail,

on grey mist-seas
under no sky.
We sailed alone,
just it and I.

The bridge was dark brown,
chocolate hued.
Every board, it seemed,
was richly imbued

with history, stories,
campfire tales,
of goblins and ghosts,
of ladies in veils,

of knights, and valor,
of deeds great and small,
of women with courage,
and heros standing tall.

I stood there, admiring,
the bridge in my thoughts,
not a sound did I hear,
but then I caught,

footsteps - muted, dull.
Thru the mist they came,
a tramping noise -
the steps all the same.

The mist roiled and seethed.
Stirred, not by any breeze,
but by some unknown creature,
poised, ready to seize.

It seemed my very breath,
was caught in my chest.
As I stood there waiting,
I did my best

to still my beating heart,
faster than any bird's flight.
It seemed I was caught
in some unknown plight.

The source of the footsteps
would soon be made known.
Had I seen what was coming,
I'd surely have flown

far, far away,
to a much safer place.
But, alas! I did not know
what I would soon face.

The mists swirled back,
like a curtain - it appeared.
It was then that I saw them,
heard the marching I feared.

Appearing, like ghosts,
out of the mist they came.
Upon reaching the far side
they went just the same.

Mothers, all alike,
and not to be
remarked upon -
like any you'd see.

Their heads were fixed.
Their step, in time.
The march, it seemed,
like a pantomime.

They wore dresses, old fashioned,
and kept their eyes straight ahead.
Their colors, washed-out,
and no word was said.

Each had before her
a pram and child,
they marched past me
in rank and file.

The children also,
faced straight ahead,
but they were the ones
who filled me with dread.

Their age I couldn't tell.
One, two or three years.
They seemed to me
to be born of my fears.

And as they passed
in front of me,
they turned their head
so I could see,

in their forehead,
their one fixed eye,
that stared at me
as they passed by.

The eye was large,
and blue, or green.
The strangest sight
I'd ever seen.

Then turning again,
and facing forward,
they showed no fear
of what they walked t'ward.

In ones, twos and threes,
mother and child paraded past.
Moving calmly forward,
not slow, not fast.

The children, as well,
in their prams rolled,
were ages one, two or three.
And my heart became cold.

To see over and over
numbers; one, two and three.
I did not understand.
They meant nothing to me.

This dream, quite disturbing,
the impression that it made.
Most things that are dream't-
the details quickly fade.

This dream did not,
so I feel I must learn
the symbols in this dream
may tell where to turn.

Is it the future?
Or maybe the past?
Why is it special,
why did it last?

Dream interpretation
offers insight
to the meaning behind
my dream that night.

Bridges are transition.
The mist is the unknown.
Perhaps it's about the fear
of leaving all I'd known.

Mothers stand for nurturing.
My own is always there.
In little ways, unrecoginzed,
she shows how much she cares.

Children are the future,
perhaps that's why they're feared.
The mist uncertain, their eye upon me.
The image that they seared

into my very soul.
And now I think I see,
My fear was not of a mythic creature,
but of future uncertainty.

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