Trouble is, and will always be so.
For so long as there are waters to be stirred.
And there we are, the cloudy dust
At the bottom.
Scrambling for the riverbank,
We clamor for the shore.
Trembling feet from shadowy stone
To rushing current.
Taking into our own hands
What need not be.
We are from the river bottom
Clamoring for the shore.
We are given everything
And struggling for more
And what’s to be gained is the trouble
That is always to be so.
So the river is considered
To be the condition
We must escape,
And some are rising to the surface
To divine a sense of purpose
Until the ripples and the swells
Send them cascading back, and back
To the trenches of the deep.
Reminded of what was given
To begin with.
Seeking anything higher than the bank,
The reeds, in their unfathomable host.
The whole of man,these clumps of sand
Are slipping down the mortal chute
Not into the end of time
But into something absolute.
Trouble is and always will be
A choice we make.
To struggle against.
To resist the waves.
And the absolute
Still tugs at the river’s end.