This river of life started its motion
Long before I joined the rocky flow.
How come this Maker had no notion
That all rivers finally run to the Ocean?
Conceived as an innocent stream by a tree,
Bubbling happily own watery song,
Mistrust and fear, those toxic chemicals free,
It started a beautiful journey to Avalon.
Little rivers still young, but mightily high
Through innocent beliefs of fluid mortality,
Never stopping to run, exhausted and dry,
Caught in the bubble of own reality.
Earthly gravity was a clever refinement
Following the given route; groovy!
Softly maneuvered into cozy confinement
The stream felt it was running its own movie,
Until it reached the steepest of waterfalls
Through the blue mists of icy confusion.
Within reach of the fatherly Ocean which calls
To step over the limits of known illusion.
Jump, little stream, much to taste and to give
In the unknown freedom to flow and roam.
The stream jumps and sighs in relief,
Not a stream, but a river and finally home.