Deciding

A wild call from some

ancient dream

drives the rapids

thrumming her veins.

 

Split the wood—

spit in the fire—

while arcane whisperings

drive her bristling bones

insane

as she rolls the tent come dawn.

 

Only the water knows where it is going.

The boat is haunted.

 

It’s no less a decision

To get in and ride.

 

If we only knew that the soul is constantly active, that it is using everything, every choice, every haunting, every moment of chattering mind to bring us down the river into who we really are.

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

riverboat

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s