The Bright River

A river runs through me,
I can see/cannot see,
I will see/will not see,
I whoopsy, fell off see,

Every way is opened up to, eventually,
There is no wind,
There is only sail

And an open ocean as far as the eye can tell.
So far I plan on waiting around some
If only to see

How long it takes
This ship to truly sink!

I'm bursting open, breaking free—
Like an acorn, a light-husk.

All these plans are unimportant,
Watch my footprints gather dust.

A stern review reported,
Tell them all I send my love

But I've found the strangest appointment,
When this one stops it starts back up.

Existence/Non-existence,
All these words just cover up—

I haven't found a point yet,
I'd report back if there was,

Until then, draw the curtains,
Against all that is and will be

And all that has been done.
I wonder why it has to be

This way, why it has to be so
Tough.  If God makes souls

Only to suffer, I think I've had
Enough.  Tennyson is not the

Best, Lord Byron is, dear buff.
Au lecteur.