The River

There is a current that flows from me to you
and its soul is the deepest green
carrying the silt of a lifetime up from the bottom
like a magic eight ball answer.
Memory is RAM, memory is false
memory is a trick from the eye of the observer.
Come with me down the river of lies
where love is the only truth that connects us.

There are constants and there are milestones
as we are carried and hustled along
birthday candles and tinsel filled scenes
and boxes kept for regifting.
The dust covered watches in top chests of drawers
the chimes that hang in the changing wind
the birdfeeders that feed a long line of generations
the cats that hunt them are buried in the grass.

You may live a long time
you might die tomorrow
will you be forgotten, as memory continues to serve.
Come with me down the river of nerve endings
the smell of cookies in the oven
the pictures on the shelves
the hands scarred by nails
the waves that lap upon the shore
as each roostertail dies.
The sound of the engines so loud everything falls silent
as if you’ve fallen under the water .

The faces of people that flash before your eyes
as you sit in a hospital room
listening to the patients breathing
listening to the stillness of your own.
Wondering if there are words that could be fulfiilling enough
to risk their escape to the patients ears
only to decide that silence is the proper epitaph
and that some things are realized without having to be said.

There is a current that flows from me to you
that defies explaination.
That respectfully leaves a spot on the couch empty
that tells you to sit on the floor.
That one great longing that never allows you to forget
how empty the world is, how deep is the loneliness
when you cut yourself off from those things that you love
when hope fades and cyncism rules the day.

Once I couldn’t meet the eyes of people
and a counselor filmed a session with me
to show what I looked like as I intermingled
answering uncomfortable questions about myself.
Who do you want to be, I had no idea
feeling like a summer moth pinned to a page
I had no ideals and I had no prospects
other than walking from point A to point B.

My daughter asked if she is like I was
shy, unresponsive to the people around her.
She asked me as if it were a curse
as if it were better to be someone else.
I told change should never be forced
and that the river brings you what it will
that no two people are exactly alike
and that I loved her and people would love her
just the way she is.

Time is the conquerer and time is the deciever
and time is the chief healer, of all things.
You learn to live with moments life deals you
you learn to live with inevitability.
Those prayers that often seem to fall on deaf ears
come around when you let them go as they will
and when they do, you see how much you’ve changed
to fit their purpose their coming means for you to fulfill.

There is a river that flows from me to you
one that a personal god allows
the opening of your eyes over a lifetime of experiences
that acceptance of events beyond our control.
Time is the conquerer and love is the only truth
and memory serves as the sights and the smells
and the taste of experiences which keep us rooted against
the current that hustles us toward the unknown.

The River

bill bell

Everett, United States

  • Artwork Comments 8

Artwork Comments

  • JRGarland
  • bill bell
  • Stacy Colean
  • bill bell
  • Charmina
  • bill bell
  • lianne
  • bill bell
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