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