Depth of the river

The blood and the guts mean nothing and everything

The cloths we wear are just cloths..

They compliment and decorate a saint..

it adorns us with character and personality

The dirty running shoes worn to walk

the jeans with with the rips, not for style

the blood and the guts and the thin layer of skin

underneath it all, is where the gold is.

some see a pristine antique

Others a tarnished piece of rust

The accomplishments and failures

blur the picture of the perfect sunset.

The artist sits down to paint the portrait

but the acrylics are cursed

the bumps along the path

cause you to trip

sometimes the pebbles are so unassuming

that you fall on your knees

blood, dirt and gravel on your knees

you cry for only a moment

the pain is familiar

it is a mirror

in the reflection you see yourself

this reflection is

clearer than the clothes

thicker than your skin

and deeper than the pain you feel

words can't express the prevailing dilemma

what is holding us back?

our heart is in our chest

it should be in our hands

the lips don't only say I love you

but also the eyes and that heart

Our feet can't move fast enough.

Our arms are not strong enough

we can't do enough

so we retreat..

going back to be being confused

we are taken by the current

In fear of the jagged rocks in the distance

we drown in the depths of the river

alone.