THE RIVER.

THE RIVER.

Through the humid Air the river roars.

Memories tumble, eddy and role.

The cries of people having fun catch the breeze

In here, the dog sighs. Rolls. Breathes.

The light of the tv flickers

I don’t watch but I hear. And I smile.

I have nothing to catch but thoughts.

Nothing to drown but possibility.

I will swim with you. Thought.

And when we reach land I will flourish.

Like you, thought, I will embrace.

And then I will set foot. Softly. But with determination.

And tomorrow will show itself. In all it’s mystery.

Into which I will venture, no torch in hand. Just me and the strength of past mis-adventures.

Anon

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