The Bridge

I will tell you a tale of two builders,

and the events that came to pass

when they tried to both build build bridges

on a pane of broken glass.

There were two at the beginning, 

Far and wide, and young and old,

And the tale that I am spinning

Is woven fine- but not of gold.

As deep as it is shallow, 

as wide as it has width

It exemplifies pride and callow,

the tale of Henry Charles and Smith.

Famous, revered across the land,

The builders did their weighty work

They were rivals owned by one man, 

A man named Douglas Kirk

And he was kindly and well meaning,

with a fatherly kind of air,

though his work was good as far as seeming,

he knew not what happened there. 

For resentment truly is, a shifty kind of craft

You see it in the bright light

Just slip right through the cracks,

And all the while you think,

"There's not a spec of dust around,

you could eat right off the floor, 

and you could swallow it all down!"

When really you're all standing,

on a shaky bit of land,

and the resentment you are handling,

you forget is in your hand.

But Douglas Kirk unfortunately,

continued towards his doom,

How sad that he could not see

the weavings spun across his loom.

"So build me a bridge!" he said,

"Clasp hands and make your peace!

You'll start at opposite sides of the gap,

and meet right in between!"

And so he ordered, making the rivals a pair,

Thinking softly how he'd triumph

on the team that they now shared. 

Henry Charles the second, 

the first man in disaccord

knew the call of money beckoned,

into his hand he wanted it poured.

And he was starting on the right, 

in a land called Sarafee, 

with forty seven days and nights

to meet the go-between,

Where Smith the fourth would come right up,

starting across the gorge,

from the noble land of Smarlyup, 

where metals were often poured. 

So here you have it, reader,

you're informed, and you must see,

the plight of a man from Smarlyup

and the state of Sarafee.

But no more on how they fare,

now they row with oars of steel,

dashing madly across the air,

standing proud upon the keel.

Twenty days in, a man would stop to ask,

Eyes tight, and lips that smugly pursed,

"Mr. Kirk, what this week has come to pass?

Who has reached across the canyon first?"

And Mr. Kirk smiled, 

with eyes that held no doubt

"Fear not dear boy, 

no mortal flaw will root my system out."

"Together," he declared,

"they will bridge the rift,

and when the final beam is paired,

it will end their petty tiff."

How could he know,

just then as he sat waiting,

that a bit of sabotage,

Mr. Smith was undertaking. 

For the other morn,

just as he took his wake,

Smith had stoutly sworn,

that Charles had slammed his final stake

And having angrily erupted, 

he charged right down the line,

where the beams hung unconstructed, 

to shout "Have you yet passed mine?"

But he was met with quiet,

a dubious dark foreboding thing

but he heard a yes in it,

with a darkened evening ring

"I'm ruined!" he cries,

throwing down his fists

and he knows not he believes in lies,

"I will not stand for this!"

So with a grin as dark as black

and an explosive in his grasp

to the base he straps the pack,

he doesn't dare look back.

BOOM as the bridge gives way,

crumbling to the ground,

and coming into work next day,

madness, Charles had found.

Charles is mad, and angry too,

fuming from his wounded pride,

and realizing what he will do,

"I'll blow his bridge up too!"

And so he runs, clutching his guns,

across the narrow path,

and pushes the trigger,

the explosion is bigger,

he knows better than to look back.

"Outrageous!" out Smith shouts,

his temper now provoked,

"Why, I'll blow his whole structure out!

Then let him come to gloat!"

But now the gorge is deeper,

the bombs had enlarged,

and the great drop is steeper,

how will they complete the charge?

"No matter," says smith,

"I'm more focused on this!

Let me try to destroy it all now!"

And with eyes set on high,

they think not to ask why,

the dangerous game had consumed,

and as the missiles were lit,

so grew the rift,

and surely the builders were doomed.

Mr.Kirk, now informed,

leaned back in his chair with forlorn,

"How did this happen, how did it occur?

I thought only to bring them as one! 

Now they've blown it all up, what a mess to pick up,

and the system I brought led us down."

And he sighed and he moaned, 

but he could only condone,

for it was too late for him to stop now.

While back at the ridge there was madness afoot,

as the canyon was swallowed in flame,

the sky was dark with ashes and soot

and the builders were consumed in their game

Twisted, they'd become,

just shells of the people they'd been.

But not so different from some

than people today that I've seen.

These builders were mad, and I'll give them that,

consumed by a hatred that churned.

and as they culminated their petty spat,

there's a lesson they've taught to be learned.

You might hate your neighbor, you might hate him a lot,

but please, think before you leap.

Because even if he has fired the first shot,

it's you who has sowed what you reap.