S.C. Flynn

                                                   EVERYTHING FLOWS

The droplet born on the airless peak

blends into the fresh, unspoiled stream

first seen in bubbling infancy,

hurrying over rocks of which it is ignorant,

growing rapidly, impatient

to reach the surging river,

but even the river finally slows and calms,

becoming a sedate brook

set in its ways and laden with matter

but which still dreams of the boundless, eternal sea

and when the brook approaches the delta

with many alternate routes,

it meets the walls of a dam

and rests in aged acceptance,

waiting for the sluice-gates to finally open

onto the sea which becomes ever more audible and desired,

while a trickle of hope seeps out through a crack

and with transparent, tasteless fingers

touches the salted, white-capped expanse

into which everything flows.

Published in The Roscommon Herald newspaper.

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