Greetings from a cold City in Ireland, I firstly wanted to explain my absence for the past week or so. But after escaping any bugs, colds or Flu’s over the past 3 to 4 years, I caught my first Flu Bug in a number of years. Thankfully nothing very bad, but it gave me time to rest up and recharge as it were.
Today I am continuing along my Untitled Series of Poetry! Even if my plans to have the Untitled series in a section of it’s own has yet to take place, but it will in time. The topic of Todays Poem is set about Building bridges and Burning Bridges. Along with a little seed for thought, If one was to Burn down bridges with such fast reaction and pace, have they given themselves enought time to leave that place before burning bridges?
Also considering the mental mess that must be involved in burning bridges, i.e. The charred remnants that eventually build up into a ghost field of charred remains. Also combining these sets of thouhts are what could be only set as mental thoughts that can flow from an over active mind that has had creative elements waiting for exit during my brief illness.
Thus having said all of this A little poetic fun for folks to read through. I will Post a warning here, Todays poem May Come Accross as a Little darker than usual, But sometimes such helps to free blockages of creativity in my view.
Having said all of this, Please try to enjoy this poem:
((The above Photograph has been taken from my own collecton of photography and copyrite is reserved and continues as usual ))
Untitled Series Part 12
Standing on a bridge to another time,
Wishing that was worth the trouble or climb.
Freshly squeezed thoughts like debris flow on past,
Storms don’t last forever yet they still passed.
Building bridges crossing streams like old schemes,
That dissolve in dreams of yesterday’s beams.
Now lost on shores of winters frosty air,
No one there dared to shout beware or care.
Burning bridges ne’er fared well in this swell,
For beyond this fractured shell who could tell.
Reasons for shelling the compounds that host,
The ghost of insanity, felt almost.
Debris charred remains where bridges once stood,
But exits denied, none could leave this hood.
Such fractured thoughts that flow from feeble minds,
These lost dreams infest, freed from active binds.
The ghost field of charred bridges over flow,
Yet nowhere left to go, until thoughts slow.
Beware that bridges burn with no paths out,
No return or no exit all goes south.
© Pat Fitzgerald 2023
Thank you for reading this far into this post, It means a lot to me that folks read my work and enjoy them. Some poetry contain topics that may or may not contain issues that readers either agree with or experience or simply will disagree with. But still Poetry is a form of art work that I enjoy and thus using it in a manner to touch the reader.
My path through writing and publishing it on this blog is a journey beyond any expectations. So my thanks to you for joining me on this journey.
Poetry for me is a constant learning curve that I always strive to improve. Often due to the speed of my typing and a few other issues, mistakes and typos will find their way into published posts. I continue to work on improving this as I move along. My thanks for your understanding this.
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Until Next Time Cheers.
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