Poetry

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There are streams that have dried
And given their best
Their waters travelled to other places
Of rest
The bed houses memories
Of a vibrancy gone quiet
The art of life escapes its grip
The life that was denied it
You reap what you sow
You feed what know
The life of the stream
Was to be of the flow
Forever chasing dreams
Of a want and a need
That passes on by so
Quickly with greed

The stream quiets,
It’s violent
It loves
It hates
It holds fiercely onto visions
That evaporate

The mist of the air,
The lakes down below
Recall the vision of the stream
And cause it to grow
They feed the dry bed
Renew it with fresh dreams

There runs a great river
Where once simply streams
Together they are joined
Of one accord
With each others’ desires
To reap the reward
The river is strong,
It is powerful in truth
Where once old streams failed
They are renewed
With the strength of their youth

The land seeks a treasure
A sacrificed life
The rivers desires
To diminish the strife.

Yield to the call
Rivers, yield to their call
Dreams and desires
Abundance for all

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