The Bridge

I'm running
faster, faster
the cold, frigid wind
cutting my throat
stripping the skin from
my cheeks
I feel the strap of
my bag slipping,
sliding from my shoulder.
I snatch for it
but it falls.
It's gone.
I want to look
back.
I want to at least
see my only belongings
fade into the distance
but I don't,
I can't.
The burning cold wind
slices through my lungs
but I don't look back.
The dark is closing in
pulling away my senses
the loss of sight sucking
my hearing and feeling and taste
...and smell.
But the smell of charred
bones still in my nose.
I see a bridge in the
distance.
It looms high above
but strangely seems
small, insignificant.
And my flight takes
me to it.
Under its cold blanket
I cover myself in
wet leaves,
my protection.
And sleep for the night
to dream of the
lights, the smoke,
the dogs, and the
screams.