The river of the mind,
flowing constantly
but never flowing.
Looking deep into the fjords of oneself
and never finding the ultimate end.
The rocks of the mind
causing terrible distractions
which wound us
and tear our souls apart.
Only healed by the life-giving wind
which constantly moves
the river.
That wind, never ceasing.
Always blowing, forever flowing.
That sky which looks upon the river who
always gives someone to turn to
when the gods are unkind to a
babbling brook.
And that forest which surrounds the river.
So many varieties of life,
yet they share a universal language.
No dialects or faux pas,
just complete and utter understanding.
Why can’t the world be as wonderful as its children?
Rick S.
Circa 1993-ish