Waterfall--Poem

It begins in the quiet, a silver-thin line,

A slow-moving secret that thinks it has time.

The current is steady, the surface is glass,

Watching the shadows of riverbanks pass.

We believe in the stillness, we trust in the flow,

With no understanding of where we must go.

 

But the earth has a limit, a sharp, sudden shelf,

Where the river is forced to abandon itself.

The murmur grows louder, a hum in the bone,

As the water is pulled toward the dark and the unknown.

There’s a breath at the precipice, white at the brink,

A moment too violent to feel or to think.

 

Then comes the surrender, the long, heavy fall,

The shattering weight of just giving it all.

We aren’t a river anymore; we are spray,

A million bright droplets all losing their way.

Torn from the comfort of what used to be,

Plunging through mist that we can't even see.

 

But the mystery lives in the crash at the base,

Where the chaos and thunder find a new kind of grace.

The rocks aren't the end, though they break us apart;

They’re the only thing strong enough to wake up the heart.

We are beaten to foam, we are turned into white,

Before we are gathered back into the light.

 

The water runs deeper now, patient and wide,

With the roar of the mountain tucked safely inside.

No longer afraid of the height or the sound,

Just a different kind of peaceful for being aground.