A World Without Loss
If not for loss, you would never grow.
Never open up to a new chance, a new flow.
Rivers don't stay on one path—they wander,
Leaving behind old trails, like we grow from blunder.
The river carves new ways through outside influence,
Just as we grow, shaped by pain and persistence.
Becoming static in a meaningless moment,
Like stagnant water, spoiling in its own torment.
If you don’t push past the weight of the fall,
You’ll remain trapped in an impenetrable wall.
But once you turn to pursuit—not retreat—
The coil will unravel, and you’ll rise to your feet.
Wounds, once raw, begin to mend with time,
Etching lessons into skin like a sacred rhyme.
The flood may tear roots from the earth’s skin,
But from that chaos, new life begins.
Growth is not a silent venture, it rumbles, it roars,
Crashing like waves against tightly shut doors.
We fear the fall, the break, the bend,
Yet it’s in the fracture that truths transcend.
For even a river must split to survive,
Forging fresh channels, keeping hope alive.
So let the currents carry what no longer serves,
And trust in the motion, in the swerve of the curves.
Copyright © david frye | Year Posted 2025
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