The Bridge and the Moon

She dreamed of the Brooklyn Bridge at night,

Arches like stained-glass windows—a stunning sight.

The moonlight kissed the East River below,

Emerging into a warm, lavender glow.

A string of soft white lights guided her way,

To the magnificent moon, not far away.

It seemed familiar to her but odd at the time,

To revel and dance in a scene so sublime.

She trudged this same bridge dozens of years,

Dragging her sadness and self-loathing fears.

Tonight she reached out and touched the moon,

Who whistled back a sweet, gentle tune.

She knew now she wasn’t doomed or alone,

The bridge, the lucent moon, her life was her own.

Dream or not…she found her higher place,

Shedding light onto doubts she could never face.

Magnificent moon, a thousand times more than the sea,

Was the beacon of light that finally set her free.