feet of a cliff

 Veins venomous at vesuvius,
Charming clatters at chaste clay,
Baking into luscious lather,
That scrummages our ears,
For a moment,
When the truth,
Lies across the cliff,
In an envelope,
But the bridge is floating,
Into place day by day,
Through sacrileges,
Through prayers,
Atop naysayers,
Demure skies,
Yet it is adhering to stubborn schedule,
Yet it seems the other cliff has feet,
Ambition in abundance,
Rhetorical stillness to masquerade,
A need for patience,
The bridge is clockwork,
And feet is horizon.