THE RIVER'S CALL

 

The River’s Call

I cradle the memory of your touch in my palm,

Soft as a river stone, warm and calm.

I think I understand the language of your skin,

The way it speaks of journeys, of where we’ve been.  

But my waters stir, yearning for the sea,

To break from this channel, to roam wild and free.

I’ve tasted the rain, felt the pull of the tide,

And now I dream of oceans, vast and wide.  

Let them call me reckless if I flood the plain,

Or brilliant if I find the bay.

I am not confined by their narrow streams,

I’ll forge my own path, come what may.  

I am weary from the miles, yet I surge,

Carving canyons, shaping the earth.

I’ve built my own delta from silt and stone,

And in my depths, I’ve found my worth.  

I’ll shed my fears like autumn leaves,

Plunge into the rapids where the wild river weaves.

For I have visions beyond mere survival,

I seek the horizon, the great arrival.  

So let the storms come, let the winds blow,

I’ll flow onward, steady and slow.

With your warmth etched in my heart, the open sea in sight,