we are,
but the little pebbles
nestled
in the sand of time's
slow flowing river.

it is merely,
the disparate nature
of our minute size
in opposition
to the immensity
of the ponderous
river's drift,
that creates
the grind of pebble,
one to another.

causing,
the eroding
of our
singular thoughts.
it is only
the gentle tap-clacking
of another's desire
to know,
and be known.

that causes,
the acceptence
of the rasp and rub
of external catechisms.

causing,
rejuvenation
in the questing
of kindred souls.

that causes
the revelation
of differing paradigmal,
sways and drifts,
some sympathetic,
some callously
indifferent.

causing,
an ebb and flow
of treatise
and dissertation.
as we abraid
and hone
each other's
sensory disposition,
begetting,
spectrumunul emotions
from elanic bliss
to yearning,
dolorous sorrow.

that causes,
introspective despair
that grapples
against difinitive delight.

we the pebbles,
caught within
this mental current,
cannot visualise
the infinitesimal alterations wrought by time.

yet,
others remark
upon the changes,
that is the way
of the waters path,
as time flows,
unrepentant
into the basin
of life's sea.
we must to survive,
simply concede
our pretentions
and comply
to the  power inherit
in the water's
flow