of Time - A Poet's Dream
etching, 16" x 5"
Any given moment breeds longing for another-without change or responsibilty.
Running past gardens and villages, over hunting grounds and battlefields, through endless days and nights, the river rolls on and on. It longs only for the moment.
The River is endless. Who has seen its birth or traveled to its end? It's always there, passing us like a stranger. The River asks for nothing and takes only what it needs, masking its true intent in the murky depths, it's surface mirroring our nervous faces.
Some say the river is the lifeblood of the Earth. Others know it as a huge bird crossing over the land-it's dark shadow its only companion. The River points no fingers and gives nothing for free. It offers no friendship and declares no war.
The River is the child and messenger of time-the roadway for souls to travel to the stars.
We stand alone, waiting in dusty armor, watching the river move. In the River, most will only see a reflection of themselves. Few will ever see it as the first, and last, of life's great poems.