The water-logged bridge is smouldering.
Half-hearted efforts prevent combustion,
And even though I have a barrel of Kerosene
I can’t bring myself to spark it up.
So here I sit, the failed ignition
A testimony to a life of false-starts.
I have the means, and I thought I had the motive
But something within stays my hand.
Eventually I stand and walk away,
With many and long glances over my shoulder.
“I’ll be back this way some day”
But I’m not sure I believe myself.