The River – poem
March 3, 2009
I don’t write poems often, but I had a spark of inspiration. As with the last post, if you are in any way disturbed or triggered by implications of self-injury, please do not read further.
The River
Run, river, run.
Red lines through
blank canvases.
Waterfalls over pink hills.
Nowhere to run
to, river. Yet you
keep on running,
tracing blood lines
across snow-white softness.
Run, river, run.
Run, river, run.
