Where The Water Flows

[Words that lack structure, errant thoughts from my head.]

Soft breeze, blazing sun
A distant horizon, buildings merging into one
Creaking suspension beams, cracked paint coats metal which burns in the heat
The worn, broken tarmac feels hot under your feet
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And yet below, water flows
Cool and refreshing, it give relief
To your sore, dry eyes, your parched skin
And your grief

Because you hadn't known what you'd find
When you came home that night
That the people who loved you
Had faded with the light

And you know, looking down
That this bridge is too high
That the ground is too hard
You know that you'll die
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Palms wrapped round hot metal
Toes curled round cracked paint
Fingers tracing the sky
Awaiting escape

And a
graceful
swan
dive
Down below
Where the water flows.