A poem. My heart is racing. My palms are sweating, I'm on a bridge
Do I venture across the bridge?
My heart is racing. My palms are sweating. I'm on a bridge, do I force myself to cross?
Starting in childhood, my uncontrollable fear of height
A constant fear, unrelenting fright
Unwarranted, out of control
Stance frozen, don't look below
Look straight ahead
Don't be afraid
Eyes begin to tear
Anxious, frightening fear
Hands clinched tightly on the bridge rail
Unable to move, what if I fail?
Listening closely, the current is swift
If I should fall will I be able to drift?
So many questions erupting in my brain
To attempt this again, I must be insane
I'm standing in the middle
I either walk on or retreat just a little?
Slowly I move one foot, then the other
I'm feeling faint, air too still, can't breathe, about to smother
A scream rises in my throat
Erupting thoughts again, wondering if I fall will I float?
I know I must move, do something!
I can't stand here forever and do nothing
Cautiously my hand loosens it's tightly held grip
My psyche tells me I can make it, it's only a short trip
I start to move, feet unwilling
My heart is pounding. Blood rushing, my head filling
Just when I think I can't go on
I hear a voice saying, " You can make it, here take my hand
Soon all your fear's will be gone
Unwavering, I look into her kind eye's
Trusting, forever grateful, she was so very wise
Assuring me, " tomorrow you'll go all the way
I'll be by your side, we'll only go as far as you say
Your fear of height will be a memory of the past
Because you've conquered your childhood fear
Promising it will be gone at last "
Who is this woman standing by my side?
It's my beautiful guardian angel who makes all my fears subside
She's always been with me since childhood and now
She promised she'd forever be with me
That's when we exchanged our sacred vow.
More by this Author
This is poetry about two young lovers who spent most of their time on the beach until the storms of life blew their love into the sea.
Even though I wasn't there, my eleven sisters and brothers told me stories of their time on an old farm and their good times. Their memories of olden times.
Nellie was a country girl who loved to write poetry. She went to the city in hopes of becoming a writer. She was told by publishers that poets and writers were a dime a dozen. shattered dreams.