I
So many bridges, yet so few are two-sided.
Why must it take a fire to force one to cross?
Pulled in every direction but my own, I fear I may be pulled apart.
Each companion rending away;
stopping only when they’ve received their piece of me to take.
Who’s to say who’s wrong and who’s right?
I am only ever tasked, never asked.
Judged solely on my usefulness rather than my companionship.
Who’s to say which side is really at fault:
The grass for bending, or the wind for blowing so incessantly upon it?
