Under the Bridge

 

When shadows loom only do I appear,
for daylight is not a friend that I often seek.
The darkness of the night hides me and my wretched body,
away from prying eyes that tend to seek
the creature living under the old battered bridge.
By day I’m not around, only at night do I feel sound,
but when I do climb out, I often see sad writings
written on the walls of the bridge that I call home.
By morning I often hear, the tell tale sounds of feet pattering,
light of step or heavy with burden, I hear them all like music to my ears.
But the night is my time, where my hunger needs to be satisfied.
I can hear footfalls coming closer as my stomach begins to rumble,
all I can think of is what a tasty treat that comes my way,
I’ll save its bones for later, to feed the rest of the mouths that cling to me.

-The Elusive Scribe 072813-