The River

winding, swirling, bubbling, 
the river comes to a near standstill;
here, where it has become tired 
and ill disposed toward the tireless race
it must run.

each drop of water must now make its choice:
to go on or keep turning
around and around
in endless motion;
wasted effort in that it goes nowhere.

but there is no pressure in this endless journey
no chance of being splashed
up here
or falling off a cliff
over there.
all choices are null in the ever squirming,
ever swirling, ever turning purgatory.

Your comments are greatly appreciated.

1994 by Nandor