River of life

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.

Love....

I was browsing through some of my old diaries, and came across this poem that I wrote. I had lost faith in the concept of love one day; felt disillusioned and wrote the first half of the poem. Then came dawn, penetrating my gloom with rays of hope. And I wrote the closing sentences:

Love is a Snow capped Mountain.
It amazes and captivates from afar,
but is dreadfully tiresome to par.
Trodden with difficulty is the path,
purpose and faith you'll need a lot.
But in the end is the bliss of those lofty heights,
even vying for which is worth a life.