Perspective From Under A Bridge, Part 1

You were a wrecked ruin too soon.

Our recent past was your now in comparison.


Your fair skin has been traded for peeling paint.


Steel to steal, scraps revealed, a rugged appeal.


Lastly, you sit… You remain; all around you has changed, the results of a capital war waged over tires and trains.


Lined wood soaked in creosote,

A shade of dark grey stays where rails once lay.


Cement legs that function, you stand your solid ground.


Above the river you hang, dark, dormant, and artfully quiet.

One has a hard time just walking by it.


History speaks volumes along the river’s edge on an early summer’s eve.


2 Comments to “Perspective From Under A Bridge, Part 1”

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