A river runs
While a lake stands still
And the mountains eclipse and make dwarves of the hills.
The meadow blooms,
The flowers swoon
As the sunlight of day paves a path for the moon.
As I lie here alone in a desolate state
Immersed in my senses but unfit to relate,
I can't help but notice I'm incredibly small
Surrounded by beauty and grandeur and all.
No friends to console me except the whistling pines,
No one to reach out and hold me
But the wheatgrass feels fine.
When I speak
My words fall like anchors in the sea;
The little waves of the lake that hear them
Shake their heads in disbelief.
The only truth I now hold to heart
Is that oftentimes life takes us back to the start.
A river runs
While a lake stands still
And the mountains are eclipsed by
My power of will.