Water so continual, wet and cold, warm and soft,
Relentlessly moving over the earth.
Water runs on top of a rock, eventually through the rock,
Wearing it down and down and down...
Is it foolish to believe you can escape the death of your dreams?
Are we all just grabbing at straws?
I fear one day I'll meet the child I once was, that she will look in my eyes,
and grieve over the absence of vision, the calloused hopes.
What will I say to her? Will there be any attainment to reassure her of? Or will my only words be, "If I had known, I would have..." done things differently?
Is it possible? Can revelation come to me now before this river becomes a canyon,
before the years wear away at me like water on stone?
Water, so continual, so unceasing, like the passing of the hours, the minutes, the seconds on a clock, challenging my static disposition.
How do I pick up these stones, so heavy and black, carrying the weight of my unfinished life? How do I become the water?
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Oh little girl, innocent child...I don't know what to tell you.
`
2 comments:
It's not so much what you will say to the little girl but what the little girl will say to you. For her and many like her is such of what the Kingdom of Heaven entails.
Listen :)
This is a secret moment of many women I'm sure. Yet, it is good to be faced with this image. (Hopefully not too late in our lives.) Thank you! A very good reminder to "live with no regrets, experience all we can; whenever we are able, make love and laughter a priority again". Then one evening, in a quieter moment....we glance out a window and whisper to our future older self...."I am doing this for you".
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