Direction

A poem.

West is the river
flowing like stop-
light-less traffic
and it murmurs a gentle
riddle to you
standing alone on its profitless bank:
Tomorrow is a
slender boat
sailing beyond your
purposeless grasp.

Just then a casual breeze touches
your sunlit face
and all that you want to believe in
holds sudden truth. Susan Scutti

Share this story:

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK