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Poem

I wish I could go to a river side,
sit there and pick pebbles around me,
toss them through the river surface
and enjoy failing to make it across.. 
A wish long lost I used to have
to get them all the way on other bank,
making these stones jump more and more
but still enjoy failing to do it for sure. 
Yet watch each pebble that I toss
drowns after a few leaps and loss.
Some pebbles turn sideways and fall,
dive straight down without stall.
But some that do get close to opposite bank
pushed by current towards there tho sank.
They manage to experience a different flight,
let their burdens levitate in delight.
Yet those that still go under from start,
maybe they have a deeper journey part.
Sacrificing heave trip they go right in,
discovering deep meaningfulness therein
Tho I fail to describe the river much
or breeze that follows when water clutch
or rain that offers its aid for breadth
or rocks that cushion the river's breath.
Perhaps another story could fathom more,
maybe the story I tell doesn't pour-
enough drops from the river's face
nor depth that these layers chase.
Still I wish there was something more,
something worth in river to adore,
something to break free of these chains,
shackles that ground pebbles that remains.
Perhaps these stones are what I talk about,
some that are slim flat or others that pout.
And not the river that swallows them up
nor the surface that their cheeks rub.
But eventually they all do slowly sink down,
no matter their types or distance they crown,
nor the sharp edges that pierces through air
and definitely not the dull ones that we spare.
And they all forge a carpet in river base,
bearing the weight of this ancient quiver grace.
This downward journey they're fated for,
thus holds them dearly all the more.

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