Montreal, Quebec

3 AM


in this place,

I stand upon this bridge

staring into the blackness below.


a place of mystery,

the mystery of what lies ahead,

I can see nothing .....


but the past,

a past that has led me

to this spot,

to this bridge,

to this edge,

at 3:00 o'clock in the morning,

clutching the pages of my mind,

staring into the blackness below.


the waters rush onward,

forever onward,

but to where .....

and why?

forever onward,

to the ocean,

to rest within the clouds for a time,

to fall to the earth below,

to drip, to stream, to flow

through broken hearted boulevards,

through streets of shattered dreams,

into gutters of addiction,

and homeless sewers ...

blending with bile and scum,

it drips back into the river

to pass below this bridge,

catching the tears that fall

into the never ending cycle .....

from a never ending cycle.


i can still see nothing

for the darkness below my feet

and the tears above them.


the skies are black,

crystal clear oblivion,

as the blackness below,

but for a million and one stars ...

not that i have raised my head

high enough to see

them that glimmer of hope ...

but i know they are there ...

they always are.

they are always there

and the thought can be comforting.


to know that something

is always there.


the silence of my surroundings

is broken by the cries of the infant,

the waters rush onward,

for the abuse,

for the abandonments,

for the telltale scars ...

within and without.


from within the corridors of the past

the child's eyes ever pleading,

the waters rush onward,

from the memories,

from the tears,

from the loneliness .....

and those four tattered walls.


the tears race to fall

to the fate the youngster prays for,

the waters rush onward,

for the molestations and the rapings,

for the sins of a predator priest,

for the depravities of the church .....

towards the children of God.


the agony rises from the well

where the teen dwells forever,

the waters rush onward,

for the hatred in a mother's eyes,

for the father that never wanted to be,

for a family religion ...

both fanatical and godless.


the voices from within

scream in unison

with a force

that causes my hands

to reach for the unreachable pain

that streaks across my forehead

and then .....



the waters rush onward,

forever onward,

as silent as the space around me .....

silent darkness,

silent waters,

silent heavens,

silent life.


the voices within explode

like nitro-glycerin filled firecrackers,

and again my hands rush upward

to reach the unreachable,

to ease the uneaseable.

to die,

to end the never-ending,

to terminate the turmoil,

to stop the tears,

to cease the cycle .....

to become a part of a different cycle .....

Copyright 1975 - 2006 By Shalene-Billie Holmes

You Are Most Welcomed Visitor to Pont Jacques Cartier Bridge

Since Created On

June 19th, 2006