The forever river

Stood by the river,

and watched it repeat,

its constant motion,

fluidity, rather, the thing we call flow.

 

Under the bridges, over the hills,

in the rocky terrain, or smoothened estuaries,

sometimes tamed,

sometimes chained.

 

In its fold,

carrying many miles of burdensome

stones, twigs, leaves and lives,

leaving behind, taking ahead.

 

Neither bound by

itself or the other,

not caring of pleasure or passion,

like unsullied time, without meaning or purpose.

 

 

Flowing, sinuous, unbroken.

Gushing down and toiling up,

all tied into one, yet in pursuit of its

One true end.

 

Silly river,

doesn’t know,

her meanderings,

and cascades.

 

All meant to be unified,

in one final fall,

into the fertile delta,

is just a new beginning,

 

of another unyielding,

flow,

again

and again.

*

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