Morning Meandering Musings

How can I make sense when my references are faded chaos
Copper water under sepia bridges sooth the dark shadows
of the
all too
shimmering light.
I count seventeen pillars arching under a busy monoxide bridge
blending old with new where carriages once rattled,
and cattle were prodded gently to market day.
As these images start to fade I wake back into the everyday
where the hooded gulls fight over a scrap of bread,
and the geese waddle comically in single file along
the new concrete promenade looking through side eyes
as if I was the one who took away their muddy bank.
I don't worry about these oblivious birds but for the likes of me
who in a fraction, don't how to take the right action
so over-whelmed by it all, who tumble and fall in an emotional abyss
that this all too quiet life, that these are the only words coming from
a world spent attempting and failing to make sense.