The River That Flows

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Drifting through a river
Quiet, only watching, seeing the fish float by
The stars blink beneath;
Moths cut through the night.

The current pulls at those within,
It is realized forever more
The fish accept and moths fly past
Though all have seen the glassy stars.

“Why”, you ask;
Seeing close yet observing from afar
The fish leave behind bubbles
As moths envision their own.

The bubbles rise,
Magnifying unto others for but an instant
Changing for neither good nor bad
Simply existing.


Yet, do the stars exist
As light is cast upon the river
To form a shining, ephemeral mirror
Separating the fish and moths.

But then you drift above
Accepting; blocking the light
Though moths still fly
And the fish swim in darkness.

You wonder, if the light
Reveals or blinds.
You wonder;
‘What am I’.





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