Walking River

Walking River short poem

Photo by Roadrunner38124

Walking beside a river, watching landscapes mirror underneath the sun
Subtle colours, everyone encapsulated by the river pictures all across and along
Yellow flowers, look at them for hours and the branches stretch like towers,
entwining from earth to beauty like a song
Listen closely a bird is singing, as he sits calmly till he gathers food to feed the little ones
Everything is ours so why do we try to take away the truth of where we belong
Maybe mirrors are like doors to a place, where we can go to remind us what we’ve missed
and pass it on Walking beside a river watching landscapes mirror underneath the sun

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

I am a poet through and through and anyone that tells you different you must deny it and slap them across the face very roughly indeed. I love the normal things in life and turning them into mysterious meaningful emotionally attached fascinating object or subjects.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

1 Comment on "Walking River"

Notify of
Sort by:   newest | oldest

Yes this is just my walks and thoughts, you have conveyed them beautifully


Walking Into You

Walking Into You short poem

Tonight the nectar will be spread to tame a random tormentor. Black and white, I never saw my father weeping. Lonely he was. I am my own creation today weather beaten. Confession to – confession, unread. When the- storm was

The River

The River ode

As The River flows – my life completes itself.. An enlightened tryst with the almighty, Created by destiny, I was born To flow like a never ending river A tough undefined journey, quintessentially alone The Himalayas promised me the purity

Me On Both Side Of The River

Me On Both Side Of The River long poem

Everything seems to be silent but my ears not, although world sleep but my mind’s not. Memory once rejoiced like a sun’s heat now turns winter cold, before isolation was a luxury to me but now it’s not. What happens

Walking With My Dad

Walking With My Dad short poem

maybe my father was a good but lonely man when my mother died he was all I had and I was all there was left of his world he grew so sad after her death that he couldn’t work anymore