The Bridge (Shakespearan Sonnet)

The destination is so far from us, yet so near.

We see the bridge. We know what’s to come.

Crossing the bridge is something we fear.

I am close to it, but I like to see where I came from.

I am nearing it. I’ve spent years and years

walking and learning and looking.

I’ve smiled along the way, I’ve shed tears.

I’ve never found peace, but maybe I was overlooking.

We’re in front of the bridge. A few people and I.

They take steps forward, and across they go.

“I can’t go. I just can’t do it. I can’t say ‘goodbye.’”

I look behind me and I miss what I see. I know,

that I haven’t done as much as I could.

But that won’t matter. There’s an empty spot from where I’ve stood.