Sitting On The Canal Bridge

Sitting On The Canal Bridge

I sit on the bridge,

the canal below—

dark water rippling,

holding its silence.

A faint shimmer

of something lost

floats beneath the surface,

too deep to name.

Why has it come to this?

The air heavy with questions,

answers slipping away

like the current’s slow pull.

The bricks are cold,

worn by years,

but they don’t speak,

they only watch.

A leaf drifts by,

spinning softly,

a quiet witness

to all that’s unsaid.

The sky leans low,

clouds pressing down,

as if the world,

too, feels the weight.

And so I sit,

staring into the water,

waiting for nothing,

listening to everything.

Should I fall it’s ok

I can swim, if I fall.

So for now I will sit here

Why? Because it’s what I choose