The River Poem by Michael Ernst

On silver wings 35,000 feet closer to the sun, I see below me a river
Where does it come from?
Where does it go?
It knows not why it flows.. only that it does
winding, churning, moving bits of sand from here to there

From up here it looks contented, peaceful
But somewhere down there it rages against its banks,
seaching for something not knowing what or why,
desperately seeking, longing for meaning until finally it comes to the sea

Only then does it realize why it exists
I am a river
My wife Denise is my sea

(2011)