A road and a bridge converge
The silence of the wilderness is maddening
A new world across the rusted metal trusses.
Just feet away, the new world feels like only a vision
Empty until filled with images of what we think we want.
Fear, like an icy dried hand squeezing at my throat
A whisper through the trees that the visions will be the same
The second time around.
- Fear that the new world will be built on the stories of my past.
(Chester, England)