crossing the bridge

last night, before i awoke at 3AM
questioning my choices, my impulses,
i was enclosed in a fierce dream:

the road upon which i was driving
became a bridge, angling heavenward
so steep, so terribly steep.
other cars were speeding along with me
faster, ardently faster.
to add to this scene,
people were also jogging in the lanes,
as swift as the traffic,
holding their own.
i was looking at these joggers,
and i became one:
i saw myself distinctly
running with all of the fervor
of my passionate gut, wearing
a yellow jersey and a fix'd gaze,
running the race of my life
as they say, no holds barred.
but, as i turned to see
where the road, the bridge
was taking all of us,
i broke through a simple barricade
at the crest of this rollercoaster hill,
and soared downward:
my journey's path still
under construction, and
i'd been in such a hurry
to get somewhere.

i felt gravity reclaiming me
and i tried to ease the strain
of being pulled one hundred stories
or more, into the deep,
cold purple river.
i braced myself for impact,
hearing the clap, the crash of the water
before sinking into it, my eyes
and nose filling with fluid.
i gasped, and awoke.