Going To the River
By Jacquelyn Hughes Mooney ©08
When I am in a way where words refuse to suffice...
Or the tides cannot soothe my ears with a melodic rhythm
And the gentle rustle of the sycamore tree sounds more like Beethoven's Fifth
Or cleansing raindrops feels more like crashing boulders surrounding my soul.
And the 12th of Never seems ever, ever more then one should bear.
Or the blossom that fell echoed so loud that even Nat's own velvet voice failed to quiet...
Relief seems to far away as the Serengetti is for me to stroll over
And the hope that the Middle Passage was a cruel, cruel joke.
That was not absolutely not funny.
I have to seek a place to replenish myself to go on another day.
So for me...
I am going to the river...
To sit & just be.
All rights reservedJHM 4-27-08©