Every Road Wishes it Were a River
– though they can never tell you so.
There is a longing which they conceal,
even at length,
to step beyond tactile existence and flow into the spirit of the natural world.
Into the waters where it swims, and crawls, and spreads itself around…
Even though they drown in it,
a million raindrop ballerinas on their surface cannot wash away the truth of it;
Every Road Wishes it Were a River.
They tremble in perceivably as passing tire treads touch them
Superficially.
Contact!
Such a visceral connection.
And in the parting a lonely whine sings a song;
To those gone by,
to roads remaining,
and to remind us all that;
Every Road Wishes it Were a River.
To be temporal, to have a beginning and an end.
Conscious of boundaries yet capable
of exceeding them, and therefore,
to be-
Immersed in the rushes and swells,
to be-
Within the Earth rather than tarry too long as a perpetual fixture upon her… Yes;
Every Road Wishes it Were a River!
It is their song upon the wind,
a song of being "just one" among many,
and thereby only slightly less cognizant of their solitude.
Of lives lived within the depths that they cannot know,
though they continue to wish they could,
as seasons pass and songs change – the truth remains that;
Every Road Wishes It Were A River.