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Poem

Chasing dreams for memories,
with bold stroke,
eyes are set toward an uncertain goal
that launches souls afloat
down a river never traveled.
A river of doubt.

Under the dark forest canopy
the cacophony 
of natures symphony
is unusually silent.
Only imaginations din
rings in the ears
and pings the hearts.
It’s an unuttered presage
taming hubris
with its humbling message.

On the liquid canvas
are featureless sketches of nature above,
giving no perspective,
setting moods colored pensive.
Still, sinewy shoulders labor,
steadily pushing and pulling 
crafted trees 
down the river never traveled.
Its direction,
depth,
length,
peril,
all unknown.
It is a river of doubt.

Days into weeks,
weeks into months—
becomes an odyssey of self-discovery.
Every rounded bend 
dispatches hope,
challenges mettle.
It is a clash of wills
that can raze confidence 
and give rise to doubt.

For what is the purpose?
Is the end the goal?
Or is it the journey?
For without a survey
The way travelled
becomes as watery fingerprints
erased by the shores.
Yet, only survivors can tell their own story.

When strength wanes,
frames become frail,
and wakes weaken
as souls contemplate
The end.

Yet, deep in the interior
is a gnawing hunger
yoked to a goal:
expend youthful vigor,
leave nothing for the age of decline,
for only the intrepid will live many lifetimes.

No one is ever lost
on the river never traveled.
If braved,
discovery becomes a tributary
to understanding
that the river flowing
under a dark canopy 
must give way to light.

Then the memory will seem but a dream.

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