(A visit by the rushingwaters)


Sweeping through the leafy
woods

Surrounded by singing birds
and lively herbs

Without a sense of birth

I realized myself on the bank
of the rushing waters

Unlike the other side

Things were vivid, as I stood
not firmly

But I refused to listen to
the rushing waters

Thou, which seemed to be
telling me many things

As I watched in silence

Listening to her many voices

I knew that I wasn’t the
first person

And knew I very well not to
be her last visitor

She told me many phenomenon
of her beauty

She told me how dry leaves
smiled away

But into prosperity

Finding pleasure with the
morning breeze

And the oxygen of Mother
Nature on her silky soft jelly skin

As she blew lovely kisses of
smiles to the rising sun

But I forgot to remember all
that she was saying

Wasn’t I also told of some of
these dry leaves?

Those which ran into stunting
riverbank rocks

And leaving no trace of their
existence

Neither being remembered by
the depth of her beauty

But being relinquished into
the anguish of many that vanquished?

She told me in another mellow
voice

How lovely dragonflies were
murdered in her astounding beauty

And why fresh plants didn’t
flow till the end of her beauty

In another voice I heard her
say, but this time very horrifically

How the sun was at times
hunting her beauty -

This which left many of her
beloved into unending calamities of grief.

As I looked into her
glittering wet blue eyes

I knew that she was telling
me truths of many things

Those which were very hard to
understand

I understood everything; only
to forget

Yet I felt that she was
talking directly, but to me

I then looked over my mounted
shoulder in pretense

And saw many others exactly
like me

It was then that I realized
that I wasn’t me

But just a withering leaf

About to go on its own

Far away from its mother –
tree

And now into the world of the
rushing waters

The waters of rushing
creatures

The waters many like me would
be afraid of

By knowing that which she had
told me – I told myself

I could reach the end of her
beauty;

Without knocking ‘gainst the rocks of the river banks

Without drowning into the
depth of her chilly beauty

Bu flowing upon her beautiful
silky skin

I then knew that my visit to
the rushing waters

Was not in vain

But for a purpose

-McNeal 1998

i like your writings McNeal.
please honor us with more