The Little Boy on the Bridge (sestina)

I came across boy one day, deep within the forest.

Thick vegetation covered the entire ground

Perhaps he was on an adventure,

Perhaps he liked the bridge.

What caused him to fall, a trick of the wind?

I am forever scarred with the memory.

I forced my mind to go over the memory;

I no longer know why I went into the forest.

The trees swayed back and forth in the wind.

How hard had he hit the ground?

Why had he gone on the bridge?

There is no longer safety in adventure.

Maybe my own desire for adventure had led me to the boy and his adventure.

The boy is as clear as the memory;

I picture the bridge,

The green engulfed everything in the forest.

I closed my eyes as he hit the ground.

The rocky surface meant death, when summoned by the wind.

It was the wind.

It was his final adventure,

When his little body met the ground.

All I have now is the memory

Of the boy inside the forest

Falling from the bridge.

I walk to the bridge,

No longer pinned to the ground by a powerful wind.

Only moments ago was he playing in the forest,

Seeking some adventure;

Escaping the world as I try to escape the memory.

I kneel in prayer for the boy on the earthen ground.

I walk to his broken body on the ground

Looking up at the ostentatious bridge

Just a vague memory,

A faint whisper in the wind,

A promise of an adventure,

Upon that day in the forest.

I plant my feet on the ground, resentful of power of the wind;

He’ll never again walk over the bridge, he’ll never find a new adventure

I push away the distant memory, and for the thousandth time, emerge from the forest.