Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
Perhaps turn out a sermon.

-- R. Burns Epistle to a Young Friend

Friday, December 30, 2011

There is a River

Happy New Year, and I promise this is the last poem I will inflict on my gentle readers in 2011.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy habitation of the Most High.  — Psalm 46:4

I am drawn to water
To dark pools glowing in the depths
To bright riffles that never slept
Oceans solemn with secret bones
Languid birthright and limpid home

I am drawn to water
With ships rocking on endless waves
Treasures hidden in coral caves
Tides rising by the lunar clock
Life rolls on as we rest at dock

I am born of water
And to it stinging sweat returns
Though our toil be on desert rock
Though living fire within does burn
Though red plowed field the rain may spurn

I am living water
Beneath the sands green rivers flow
Scorners drily deny and mock
Though the course of streams they may know
By life above its path does show

4 comments:

Rick said...

Lovely end to the year.
A river should be forever new, but this one sounds like a sunset. A beautiful ending. Nice length too.
I should say, this is going in your permanent record. As all things done so finally should.

robinstarfish said...

I'll drink to that.

John Lien said...

I often don't like poetry. I hate the ambiguity. The symbols srain this feeble mind. But what you wrote suits me just fine.

mushroom said...

One feeble mind to another. :)