Walking this bridge, under which the troubled waters rage
No shoes or socks, as to feel every foot along the way
Looking towards the skies, my eyes having been enraptured by the portentous
Shade of the light grey horizon
Which acts as the promotion of my impending demise
As the journey continues, the path starts to succumb to the rage
Expressions belie the grief that follows
To know that your mortality is only as sturdy as the crossing upon which you stand
Injects the concept of faith, and whether I possess it
Am I going to make it across or perish trying?
More importantly, do I believe I can?
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