She rages and races,
a river
crashing over a boulder,
not stopping.
Not able to stop
or do more than to play,
following her path to the deep.
She’s smashing
and coursing,
her boulder is shrinking.
He’s turning to dust carried away to the sea.
She’s a river,
so there’s no looking back,
to see what she missed.
If she could she would
see the rock he meant to be.
A boulder,
firm and unflinching.
Once his footing is found,
unwavering,
sound.
Unable to say things that he would
because of the rushing river.
When she’s weak,
she gets small,
but isn’t able to stall,
she’s the river.
For him,
he’s a friend.
For her he’s a boulder,
there because he’s the rock.
If she saw
in the past
and over her shoulder
she’d see that boulder,
in the light of a mate.
Without him she is spilling,
getting lost in the sand.
He didn’t play in her way
but he knew her the most.
A rock
not a river
but she just never saw
he could be more than a boulder.
So she rushed on ahead until he was dead,
swept along by her river.
“M,” Quite a poem from June….from literal story to figurative meaning….You are so good a writer….really! Hope you are good…..training & did you have that run????!!!!! Phil
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Now for a good long sleep before tomorrow’s race! Thank you Phil for the praise. There are wonderfully creative writers out there, reverent and irreverent and very entertaining, that I get one fan seems pretty amazing. Thanks!
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Matilda – you have beautiful taste, and powerful poem will force me to play your words with musical piano melody. I am speechless:)
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