Purpose Complete

The bridge stretches into the dying light,

its planks warm with the breath of the sun.

No footsteps cross it now,

no voices call from shore to shore.

Only the river speaks—

soft, unhurried, forgetting nothing,

carrying all things away in silence.

The day exhales its final glow,

a sigh of gold fading to ash.

Shadows bow and drift downstream,

their purpose complete.

The bridge stands empty,

but not alone.

In stillness, even endings shine—

a quiet path returning to itself.