Its flow, mighty, powerful, turbulent I make futile attempts to make my own way But it's the forces of nature that determine my path Pushing me, Pulling me at its whim And yet I have this notion of Destiny Of a greater calling A belief or rather a hope for finding the true purpose for my existence Perhaps a twig would change the flow of a River And Perhaps the whole story wouldn't sound as absurd as its pitiful summarization Yet, nothing is more true, more tangible, more persistent, more disheartening than the fact that
I'm a tiny twig flowing in a River
The lines of optimism and wishful fantasy are thin