Rivers are poetic.
Rivers are poetry
that naturally and effortlessly flow.
They came from nowhere with no
actual plan where to end.
Nurtured by the rain of empathy,
guided by the fiery wisdom of the wind,
with no volume it touches, it feels;
It is alive, for it has a heart; it breathes.
Foolish and wise, It has a mind of its own.
It breaks rules in the name of freedom.
The earth, its stage, its holding ground;
and with rhythm and rhyme,
yes! It is a song.
There are those that say, “Poetry has long gone forgotten and dead”.
And I told them, "Yes it will be, but only when the world no longer
breathe”. Because for as long as the wind blows, there will be sound;
when there is water there will be flowing rivers that care and give
reason to live; for as long as the earth exists, there will be life.
There will be hope, there will be poetry, and there will be prayer for
God, the Supreme Poet that speaks with rhythm and rhyme."
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