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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