For all our differences
and they may be vast
There has been a bridge
spanning the gap
We have called this bridge
by many names
friendship, respect, cordiality
kindness, acceptance
Whatever we call it
the basis has always been love
This bridge is in disrepair
crumbling from neglect
atrophied from disuse
bordering on obsolescence
a practice gone out of style
There are those
scavengers, at best
pulling planks
from the crossing
to build fences
Creating barriers
where once
was passage
Still today
there are a few
tenders of the connection
keeping vigil
over what remains
They mend what they can
plank by plank
word by word
hoping someone
will cross again
It seems
their numbers wane
with each passing year
Boards fall
Ropes fray
The span sags
under silence
Soon
those who remember
the crossing
will be gone
And the distance between us
will no longer feel like loss
Only
the way
things were
© Ron Simpson Jr.
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