Psychic

Innocent bloom
rust on the bridge beams.
Skip to already, pressing down
whispers in the moonlight.
The sea under the bridge
sighs,
shipwrecked souls
rise over the waves.
I hear their
screams already, out of
is the day passed out
cloud bed to sleep
the sun.
Who knows what
seems to be a psychic.
Maybe I know, maybe
I do not you can hardly told.