Poems of my Mind

A river flows.

The current pulling this way and that.

Changing direction as often as day turns to night, and back again.

The path it has taken, never to be crossed the same again.

The path ahead uncertain.

Powerful and delicate.

Enough force to sweep away anything in its path.

But broken with the slightest touch.

Simple and complex.

Only headed in one direction, only made of one thing.

But thousands of different patterns and shapes to behold.

A lone canal boat floats softly down the river.

Powered by an unknown force, the paddle steers each side.

And a lone figure sits upon its head; a silhouette.

So content and peaceful it appears.

But each stroke creates ripples which disturb the calm.

And become tidal waves, washing the boat upstream, away.

It is never destroyed, despite its simple construction.

And the figure always stays sat, never thrown overboard.

Though there is nothing holding them there.

And the boat will always return.

During the calm, it floats down again.

Through the petals strewn across from the blossoming trees.

On the river of many and few.

Towards an unknown destination.

The river flows on.