The Passionate Waterfall

The strumming of the running stream, 

jumped and blundered, sloshing over 

rocks and boulders in its way, til toppling

lavishly, like lovers flinging caution 


to a wrestling wind, it waits and then

as an angel it falls, slowing motion,

creating rainbows, raindrops, rushing,

thundering as it collapses and crashes


into a waiting pool playing the music

of lost souls as it leaps in the air again,

squeezing by the next sensuous space,

slamming and tumbling, as it ricochets


and sparkles in the silver shined spray,

it ever  thrusting the water on and on,

til it sighs and slowly pools its passion,

to run deep and dark with desire.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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