Burning Bridges

The man left town mutely, early one morn
When the town wished, he’d never been born.
Shunned by his kin, and stunned by his friends.
Ahead were beginnings, behind just old ends.

His wisdom was spoken with words needed said,
The sheep cried, “Impiety,” and wanted him dead.
Cast forth from society, his staff in his hand,
The man shook from his boots the last grains of sand.

Soon evening is fading, as the sun gently falls,
As night begins shading, the whippoorwill calls.
As ravens fly home, from valley to ridge,
Behind the man glows a bright burning bridge.

© 2013 C.M. Baker III