The whisper of the stream
In the forest is a stream that carries all my fears away.
The water grips my open hand with promises of yesterday.
The promise of a time before the world became a lonely place,
to days I stood on muddy banks and had eternity to play.
The water takes my pain downstream, immune to all the hurt I’ve seen.
Patiently the stream collects, and filters out my past obscene.
In times of grief and times guilt, the gentle flow is of a dream.
The symbiotic link we share is torture, for a mind serene.
If in your search for solitude you stumble on a coppice clear,
continue on until you find wear fauna swill
For in the forest is a stream that carries all your fears away,
the whisper of it can be heard, the closer to its’ edge you stray.