This is a poem I wrote for a friend of mine. But now, I need to look at it myself to remember hope.
Log on the river, that's what I am.
Drifting and floating, moving along.
I open and eye, call it a struggle
while i long to go back into the snuggle.
The dreams of my sleep are pleasant no long,
yet waking to life is no happy song.
The log rolls off fighting the current,
long rotten roots grasping for ground.
Tumbling and crackling I make a wild stand,
bucking and bowing but ever more strong.
The river is now mine feeding me life,
my tears of joy, carrying my dream.
1 comment:
lovely piece of work! like the connection.
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