The Roots Of The Waterfall Poem by gregory collins

Whenever i hear of unending love, like an ancient tale
when half the gods are tomorrow, and the other half are

forever. I require courage to obey my heart: To control
the bouyant sea of the all renewing soul. The fact that

i could be the roots of the mountains or the roots of the waterfall,
and i would still think the only thing that vindicates my cause

is to play like the branches; and leap over suns, sit on
flowers like chairs, and watch the movements of a woman,

and know the warmth there has no beginning or end. She
is what she is - whether in wrong, or beyond wrong. All the

world is just a day, and what can be known inside the unknown.
Maybe feel the light of a whole life, and the shadows deep there.

Maybe love the sorrows under some other moon, but then
how false this poem would be. Because if there was no sunlit blue,

who waits and stares from afar, and desires me. Then what is this day
when peace and oblivion gave me a rose who thinks the same thoughts

as me, but knows it is a dedication for others to read: Exactly as we see
each other, attached by one premeditated silken strand of thought.