Friday, February 04, 2011


Through aeons
it flows
a relentless river
of consciousness

With varying speeds
it flows
at times serene
at times violent

Yet onward
it flows
never ceasing
till the end

Yet through the end
it flows
not yet done
nor yet begun

1 comment:

Reogan said...

You've figured it out, haven't you? Poetry is so deceptively simple, yet you've done it. Here, again, is an example of your aptitude.

It flows.