It spreads in arched wings
balanced on the wind
stretching first east, then later west
harnessed on a tower spire
reaching, reaching, finally touching
its wingtips to earth.
A bright fluorescence
fans out from the spires
as thousand strand tendons
anchor it in the forever clasp
of a harsh gravity and man-made
concrete and steel.
Far below, brackish waters
wash past in cyclic tidal flows
the wake waves splashing
long thin legs. Stoic and silent
it echoes the low toned wail
of each passing ship.
From a distance the arced span
swoops over the channel
as each day it bears the continued
weight of commerce, yet it remains
still, but not motionless
it sometimes sways, longing more.
While staunch and stubborn
in the harshest storms, it flutters
in light winds and rain bowing
against its restraints as if
to slip secretly away
into the gentle breeze.
In fog it disappears completely
flying into the clouds, finally free of
the eternal gravity. Later it sadly
returns with the clearing blue
prisoner again to the stayed cables
and the forever need for road.
In the sun it glares the waterway
daring the lesser creatures
to try and undermine its stance
as it bears its burden, tightly
stayed to an unforgiving earth
its mighty wings poised to fly.
Send private anonymous feedback to the author (to post a public comment instead).