Denmark's a Prison (Little Foot Bridge)
-- by Colleen Trompeter
I let my idol go
I let my friends keep walking
I let the strangers ignore me.
They cross the bridge in record time
And frolic along the streets,
Investigating the buildings,
The hordes and the vehicles
Whirring all around.
I remain on that slippery little foot bridge,
My hands wringing themselves
On the icy railing,
Feeling the fresh rainwater
Beneath my palms,
Breathing the wet, chilly air into my lungs
Like it's my final breath.
The crowds pulse around me -
Talking, chattering, bickering,
And the words wash over me like a din,
A raucous clamor.
Yet I linger on that drenched little foot bridge,
Watching the sun sink behind blue-gray storm clouds,
Parted just enough to reveal
Pink, orange, and cerulean glowing in the sky -
The quintessential sunset
Before my awestruck eyes.
As I loiter on that freezing little foot bridge,
I wonder silently
Whether heaven resides
Within the thunderheads,
Looming ominously on the horizon,
Or within the pastel embers of the sun,
Glittering as they ripple and dance in their reflection
In the murky waters of the river.
Would I choose one over the other?
Sunset sans rainclouds?
No, I decide, slowly leaving that charming little foot bridge,
I want them together,
Now and forever,
Making a contrast that amazes the synical me
And plants seeds of doubt in the faithful me.
I want them both because they show
There's no heaven or hell, just Earth,
Just us,
And life is exactly how we wish it to be.
(And for now, as I glance back at that lonely little foot bridge,
Teeming with bustling mobs,
That's enough for me.
After a sunset like that,
Words have no meaning at all.)
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