Rivers

Somedays I wish

To flow with the rivers—

Twisting and turning

Through the tides of the past

Drowning, sinking—in the waters—

I wish it were the lethe

Smoothing the roughest of stones.

I pick up a pebble

Rough, worn, faded with the passing of time—

And yet—beautiful in its imperfection

And perfect in its flaws.

All rocks find their way through rivers

Some smoothed, others battered and bruised

But perhaps I shall blaze my own path

Over the rivers of now—

And into the seas of eternity.