Poem: Steady Intent


A steady stream of yellow,

gushes down,

flowing freely.

Not where I want it travel,

as it goes around blockages,

again and again.

The width gets smaller,

and nothing stops its path,

worn out,

less intense.

With splinters and holes,

a smaller stream can turn

in the right temperature.

A liquid to solid,

that is stuck in place,

getting harder.

When unmovable,

a piece breaks away,

slides down,

and stops short.

No one ever reacts,

to have courage,

to push it further.

A broken stream changes color,

from bright to dirty,

still preserved,

but it reaches down,

to the end.


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