Photo by Chris Leipelt on Unsplash

Thursday, November 7, 2019

Become the bridge a dreamer walks.

Confirming the inner world of faith talks.

Every morning it’s the arm and leg we ask for.

The patience to mind your own in happiness is caring.

Attending to the unmistakable path—it’s called the game of love.

I wake up missing you, asking for you, I try so hard as you pass me up.

Maybe you don’t have time to fill my cup; it tells me try once more.

You guide me regardless into a deep belief, the illusion’s a relief.

And for the arm I ask, the leg you take—I want it back, it’s fate.

What’s the purpose for why you leave? So that I can breathe?

It makes sense in the way the day becomes a breeze.

I was frustrated to ask when the gift was there.

I wake up and another chance to dare.

And be brave for the gift is despair.

Breathe a bridge to get there.

It’s not far, again, breathe.

Let it come at ease.

Foggy for now?

Don’t doubt.




Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes because no one can 'read' him. And it's a great way to hide public thoughts...

2 Comment on “A Bridge Awaiting Great Gifts

  1. Pingback: Some Hurt, So You Don’t |

  2. Pingback: Promise To Row | This Is Where BuddWrites

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