Tributaries

Tributaries

Come, flow with me down tributaries unknown.
Meander through lazy turns and streams.
Work with me to wear down the rough edges
of stones blocking our way. 
Prepare for waterfalls, rapids. 
Hold my hand, there lies danger.

Grasp tightly as we strike with force
the larger body of yang, the river of anger.
Misguided souls, driving to succeed
will leave the unfortunate ones dizzy
from neverending cycles in an eddy.
Do not fret, she is among you and will teach you

to embrace the gentle currents toward the Great Mississippi,
drift upon rafts down the wide expanse of waterway,
flowing seaward with purpose, without malice.  That is,
unless held back, re-formed to fit a mold
the Creator did not intend.  If her path be disturbed,
make ready for the floods.  But if not,

you will find yourself where river meets ocean,
where potential is eternal and yang is laid to rest,
giving way to yin, to wisdom, to majesty.  But beware,
all you who join us there.  This bountiful ocean
is not one to be misjudged or mistreated. 
There is tremendous wisdom in her vastness and depth. 

So it is with the keeper of faith, the nurturer, the grail,
your mother, sister, daughter, or grandmother,
by blood or by choice.  She is a force to behold,
for she has traveled far, left stones transformed,
been displaced by the whims of man,
and the upheavals of Earth.

Shed your misgivings, ambition, mistrust. Take her hand,
she who has made it to the sea in peace,
content in her choices, void of regret.  Find this woman
of whom I speak, for not all have seen her trials. 
This woman, if you have met her, you will know who she is. 
Go to her, and she will unveil the mysteries of your life,

for she has cut mountains, carved stones, parted for great men
and still she has the grace to hold you in her arms.
She has contained countless souls within her womb, allowed them 
to swim in her tranquil waters, protected from the pain of this world.
Offer yourself to her, for through your faults and insecurities,
your name, like the signatures of tributaries,

will remain forever etched
upon her weathered face.


SWPoet

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I made some changes in the line lengths which made it six lines per stanza (so it wouldn't go to the next line prematurely when I printed it.  There are a few corrections also.  Hope you like the new version.  I'm keeping the one below in case I might want to enter it in a contest that requires less lines of poetry.  It works on computer but not on paper, with the longer lines.

IF you're reviewing this poem, the top one is the one entered (but feel free to comment if you like one much better than another. 


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Tributaries 

Come, flow with me down tributaries unknown.
Meander through lazy turns and streams.
Work with me to wear down rough edges
of stones that block our way.  Prepare for waterfalls, rapids. 
Hold my hand, here lies danger.

Grasp tightly as we strike with force
the larger body of yang, the river of anger.
Misguided souls, driving to succeed will
leave the unfortunate ones dizzy from circling the eddies.
But do not fret, she is among you and will teach you

to embrace the gentle current of the Great Mississippi,
the wide expanse of waterway. Going seaward
with purpose, without malice.  That is, unless held back,
reformed to fit a mold God did not intend.
If so, make preparations for the floods.

If not, say hello to the salty banks where river meets ocean
where potential is eternal and yang is laid to rest,
giving way to yen, to wisdom, to majesty.  But beware,
all you who join us there.  The ocean is not one to be misjudged. 
There is tremendous wisdom in depth and wave. 

So it is with the keeper of faith, the nurturer, the grail.
Your mother, sister, daughter, your grandmother
by blood or destiny, is a force to behold,
for she has traveled far, left stones transformed,
been transformed by the whims of man, the upheavals of earth.

Shed your misgivings, ambition, mistrust.  Leave yang at the door.
Take her hand, she who has made it to the sea in peace,
content in her choices, void of regret.  Find this woman of whom I speak,
for not all have seen her trials.  That woman, you know
who she is.  Go to her, and she will unveil the mysteries of your life.

For she has cut mountains, carved stones, parted for Moses
and still she has the grace to hold you in her arms.
She has contained countless lives within, swimming in peaceful waters
protected from the fear and shame of this world.  Offer her your hand,
for, throughout her trials, your name remains etched on her heart.