Life is like a river,
ever changing, never stopping.
The river is supposed to take our worries,
our flaws, our mistakes,
and carry them downstream -- far away.
But what of the items that sink?
The worries that get stuck to the rocks?
The flaws that wash up on shore?
Branches fall from nearby trees and
while they sit there, they trap other things --
things that were on their way to being forgotten.
If life's a river,
what are the fish that choose to swim upstream?
Life is like a river.
Some patches are rough with white water,
some sections are smooth and soft,
others are full with piles of stones ---
testing our cunning and flexibility
Memories are painful --
but sometimes we must go back upstream
and remove the things that hold us there.
If not, our journey downstream
will become haunted by ghosts
that should be resting.