The River

At a distance I know it's you,
even though the shadows on your
face fall differently then last I looked upon them.

When times were a
solid bright white or dark,
was when we were at our best.

Now the joys seem
to be speckled with crags.

In our youth we were small little trickles,
a small refreshing thing.

But we grew together,
and moved as one.

We flowed where the bed would take us,
but what would you call us?

Sometimes we were sparkling, natural
and reflective of our surroundings,
but sometimes deeper.

At our worst we were shallow and harsh,
impulsive and destructive.

Whatever we were, we kept moving.

There were a few times
when earthly things would push us apart,
and after a time we found an outlet,
the mouth of something with more opportunities.

As streams of life we grew, then with our
passion we cut through rock and earth,
a roaring river of forceful nature,
until we hit something bigger then ourselves.

Where is she?

I figure she resides around the coast of Delaware,
washing upon her favorite beach,
teaching kids how to swim.

As for me, I have always been a traveler.

The doldrums may bring me still, a child may know
my experience and placid nature on a dock dangling
his feet, but I won't stay in anyone place.

No matter where we are,
the streams of people we meet
can be discerned within us.

I may be your river,
I may be your rain drop,
but no matter what,
our cycle is everlasting.