Life's River

Standing alone in life's river . . .
          taking in its vastness,
          incomprehensible of its beginning and end,
          for it can not be seen,
          except . . . what lays before me,
          be its peaceful calm or its rage,
          depending on external forces not of its control.

Its rocks . . .
          grouped or alone,
          held within her bed,
          stuck in-time . . .
          yet her waters wash each crevice,
          polishing its ragged edges to smoothness,
          bringing out the beauty held within.

Releasing granules overtime . . .
          to be a part of its greater whole,
          creating something new,
          a cushioning . . .
          for what obstacles may take hold
          as the water's power sends.

Many unknown tributaries . . .
          to explore while travelling
          life's river meandering ways,
          even to its constriction,
          obliterating her flow
          to almost nothingness.

Leaving the river's full life force . . .
          to maintain an entrance,
          to naturally change its course,
          if chosen not to explore her tributary veins
          or to cleanse her overgrowth from obscurity
.

Tivonna