White gate, white gate,
Under the bridge.
Keys in my hand,
Hiding behind me,
Lower me down to where no one will find me.
Bright lights, bright eyes,
The difference doesn’t seem real,
Back in my head, voices so loud,
Everything is clear again.
Screaming sounds like bells,
Instructions are yelled,
The waves are hands,
Holding you tightly.
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2 comments
for me the gate is the threshold of death, lying under the common life that goes on upon the bridge; keys (hidden: it’s the blame or shame of suiciding) in hands. than there are these lights (i can’t think of anything.. a car that passes, whose lights look like a human face?), voices in the head. i personally find amazing the last image, waves like hands that are holding you tightly.. like the sea itself or whatever is rising up and guiding you to the gate, like a million hands, while everything appears clear and the decision has been drawn.
nice poem!
Very well interpreted! The lights are those of car lights and the sun in the distance, even though so far away seemed to blind me.
The poem in short is about a drug experience I had where I experienced all my suicidal feelings and memories from the past while standing on a bridge. It almost felt as if I was back in the past where every moment I thought about suicide. Even though I was not suicidal at the current time, it was a very strange and out of body experience.
Glad you enjoyed it!