My beloved river

Well, I was going to call it a night, but this next poem is just begging to be put out there, so to speak. I can actually hear it saying, "Hey, don't forget about me!" Seriously, though, this was a wonderful poem to write. I remember feeling so good after I put these words on the page. And... I'll let the poem speak for itself.

My Beloved River

My beloved river continues to speak,
teaching my being, calming my mind,
alleviating my fears, soothing my soul.
Together we unfroze, my river and I,
as the spring sun spread its light
on shimmering, solid ice that concealed the
liquid flowing beneath.
Always moving, never stopping,
finding a way through.
Great chunks of ice showed themselves
as the floodgates opened.
Chunks that harbored debris,
sticks and stones of past pain and hurt
carried away by the torrent of emotion.
Rapid currents that altered the banks,
changed the boundaries, then settled.
Warmer air turned the ice to slush,
which spoke with a quiet sureness.
Soft sounds of the hope of peace,
quiet whispers of understanding,
of moving toward a better way to be.
Yes – the river never stops.
Water in endless motion,
ebbing and flowing
like my newly freed spirit,
my still searching soul.
The river is my guide,
showing obstacles to flow around,
times of whitewater anguish,
quiet pools in which to rest,
surface sparkling in the sun
reflecting the light, the warmth.
My beloved river does speak
and reminds me to keep moving,
that there is a way through.

Sarah Carlson

December 11, 2006