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The River of Life
Wispy mist dampens my path while I recall being with you-- Sure Death Mountain casts a shadow from east-to-west here-- Evil spirits taunt me with unfounded depression and fear Sitting--mourning--leaning back on a willow along the river; Finally--when I can cry no more--I smell salt in the air-- The river beyond the willow is getting faster and stronger; In a moment of clarity I see I really don't belong there I pull myself up and duck under the branches hanging low; I look up to see a shining beacon beckoning with its glow: Walking up toward the light soon I am in the presence of God-- An angel appears before me with a message of hope, of love "What was the meaning of the river?" I asked--I really needed to know-- The river of life is made from the prayer-filled tears of the saints: We make it flow. 
--bro. tim pickl Return to Tim Pickl's Poetry Page
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