If I Were a River

Somewhere, in some far off place

there is a wood.

A quiet grove of trees, looming above a mysterious breeze.

In that wood there is a brook

that creeps independently

through the silent products

of nature's promiscuity.

it glides through pastures of exquisite green

and through forests hidden,

exploring the unknown.

This winding brook,

bubbling with a sagacious gurgle,

searches for stability and satisfaction.

Often times a tributary stream

will stray from the brook,

causing controversy in its journey

toward perfection.

Streams leading toward lowly marshes of darkness and melancholy;

loneliness and betrayal.

but somehow they find themselves

merging again with the dauntless acceptance of the happy brook.

and so its life is a circle

of searching and desiring.

and maybe one day

the brook will escape the lonely wood

and reach its perfect destination

of the wild unknown joy

of individuality and spontaneity.

Written by 16 year self, circa 1994