The Rushing Stream Of Desires Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

I am sitting by a river.
Alone.
Beneath these still waters
There flows a strong undertow.
I only reflect the surface,
What's beneath, I'll never know.
I'll never taste of the water
if I sit
by the rushing stream of desires.

At times, it's a placid stream.
A quiet, restive moment in a
loud, aggravated existence.
Other times, it is a raging
torrent of pent up frustrations.
This still, raging river;
This quiet, loud stream of thought.

I am sitting by the river.
Alone.
Afraid of setting my feet
into the water for fear
that they will get wet.
Better to sit idly by while
the river flows on its way.
What's ahead, I'll never know;
I'll never live within
the rushing stream of living.

At times, a warm touch
is as far and distant as a
meandering letter lost
in the post.
At other times I am
participating in reality,
Where coldness seems to
be the dominant reaction.
What's ahead, I'll never know.
I'll never exist if I
sit by the side
of the rushing stream of desires.