The Old Stone Bridge

[katepoet]

The Old Stone Bridge

Out for a stroll near midnight, traversing the old stone bridge
deep in thought, I was startled and worried to hear a groan.
I stopped to listen in the black night, turned round to hunt
the source of sighing, looking carefully for any trace
of a soul in need. The sob was soft, someone nearing death?
It came from above me! I looked up and wanted to run.

Perched on a lamppost, was an apparition, a long run
up her silk stocking. She was living in limbo, the bridge
between this world and the next. Perhaps untimely death
had called her too soon, ere her beloved's passion had grown
to match hers. She wept and searched as if seeking a small trace
of him. She seemed unaware of me in her fruitless hunt.

Stealthily, I slid my camera out. I had been on the hunt
for a midnight scene to shoot. Entranced, I forgot to run,
caught up in the chase, hoping to capture some small trace
of specter on film, a grieving face above the old bridge
from whose open mouth issued a miserable groan,
a longing for release that had been cheated her in death.

I focused my lens upon her and suddenly saw Death
floating behind her, gloating, with his scythe ready to hunt
a new victim, to cull another soul whose aching groan
would add to his cacophonous symphony; a new run
of haunted arpeggios; a concert on the old bridge,
bassoons and oboes illuminating the steamy trace

of human forms perched on black lamps. In the sky, was a trace
more lightly drawn of a chorus of souls augmenting Death,
his triumphant revel. I broke away to scan the bridge
and saw on each lamppost, like trophies of his greedy hunt,
souls in agony, desperation; knowing nowhere to run.
All that was left were memories etched in each mournful groan.

Death, the conductor, drove them 'til the awful din had grown,
and I questioned why I was chosen to observe this trace
of evidence of afterlife from which I had not run.
Did I face my own mortality, my own date with Death?
Or was I there to bear witness, carry tales of his hunt,
Affirming his might that left souls ever haunting the bridge?

I swore I would be the bridge, falling on my knees to groan
I?d spread word of his hunt, specters of souls whose pain will trace
their dance with Death. But then, Death gazed at me. I should have run.

Katherine A Minden copyright 2006

[katepoet]

I put this up for Halloween. Have fun!