Wold

If rivers were to flow to the direction of the world instead of gravity,

Some sunken heart wouldn't be living with this depravity

Of grace and good and all things that one could have and hold.

In a world where holding is a lot like being lost in the eternal wold,

Rolling and reaching out green for miles with nothing better on the other side;

Because there is no fence, only the long, intimidating great divide

Lost to the eyes of the hoping and hopeless.

And in that, the uncertainty as to whether that is a light of way or darkness

To further muddy the path that rivers where gravity holds the rotation of the world.

Going on forever and forever, you place your hands on the stones hoping to leave a whorled,

A mark to let others know where to go or where not to go even when you are lost.

Never knowing, never certain whether anyone will abide by these at any cost;

And perhaps that hurts the most as the world stretches ever broader.

Or maybe it is believing oneself to be time's worst marauder,

Hiding behind the effects of gravity and pretending to be one so worthy of giving direction?

Lay to the grass at the cross section for advection, 

The wold by the river is ever long.

Give no swan songs.

Author's Note

Sunday posting. This one is late for you guys, but it's been up on my DA for a while. I'm trying to figure out if I can schedule poetry on here like I can DA, so I can get stuff up on time while I'm busy.

I'm now writing three poems daily to force myself to write, so some of these aren't going to be my best but I need to post something on Sundays.