If Souls Were Rivers
I’m your life’s embankment; the wrong way street.
You’re the mighty river: the containable rejected.
Edging away my banks, indifferent to the cold or heat;
you’re life is an erosion project left unprotected.
You take a piece of sand here and a dirt clod there;
engulfing and dragging it along to the mouth
of the ocean; mixing me in with the debris where
plastics, paper bags, fishing lures, all float south.
Things once held in people’s very hands, thrown
out in disregard, now unneeded, or just lost
in the current by a false promise; a catch never known.
I look upstream of your soul at your thoughts’ cost.
I see your frustrations in swirling pools, vortex of mind;
hung up on things that I, floating, am forced to leave behind
|