A river of mystery
flows in each of us,
and in all things.
We feel its wetness
deep in our nature,
fed by hidden springs.
We sense its flow, alive,
breathing in our communion; moving
in the gentle currents of psalms.
I feel the wetness of this river
moving deep within me, flowing
as luminous in the night as in the day.
2 comments:
we all use metaphors to describe feelings of transcendence. water is a common metaphor in that regard.
although you will never mention the drowning sensation of water, the erosion of land by rivers...
all this points to your intention to avoid describing the whole truth in your statements. ie your poems are intentions not realities although you wish they were one and the same.
The poems are intentions, and they are reflections, not realities. They reach, they point. I am simply inadequate to the task of describing the whole truth. But beauty and mystery sometimes drown me, erode me to the point where I do not know who I am. As I am swept away, I try to write about the currents.
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