This is my response to the Secret Keeper’s Monday poetry challenge to write a poem or piece of prose which includes these five words or synonyms:
Fame, view, mask, bridge, yarn.
Sorry but I can’t find the name of the artist of the painting.
The threads draw tighter,
Masking the sight of the water,
A shimmering, steely safety net.
Or is it illusion?
Bridge sways beneath my feet,
Centuries of glory shifting in river sand,
Dimmed by the cloud mist over the sun.
Or is it my eyes?
Resplendent it is no longer,
Mud creeps, seeps into the fabric of all things.
Not even stone resists.
How could I?
Fighting against the sticky web of indecision,
Listening to the roar of the river calling.
Or is it warning?
The sun sinks weary and bloodless into the west,
Drawing the black spidery lines in its wake.
Bridge bucks, sighs, and settles,
Or is it my feet?
I wake, walk, leave the place, where the world is in flux,
And find the bank again, the right bank.
Or should it be the left?