Don’t build a dam around it, let the rivers run wild and they will always find their way back to the ocean, a little wiser, a little more compassionate, after tenderly shaping mountains into valleys. Eventually it is the river that remains the same and the harsh rock that is forever altered.
The rain is stepping on my life
And the seasons push my heart
Thoughtfully along slaps of wind.
I never had time to build a shelter.
I think I’d rather meet the night
With a weatherbeaten heart instead.