I hear the waters roar, I hear it
as if it were rushing down my spine.
The wild rivers that roam free
they call out to me
like wolves from the woods
calling to their own-
calling them to come home.
I can feel the wild
I’m chasing it down stream
rushing past the riveting rivers
the warm and cool breeze
bouncing through my hair,
bracing my bare and broad shoulders.
This is what I call home
and where home calls to me.
My weathered soul
knows more about the wild
that runs ramped in my veins
than I’ve ever known
of any man at all.
I’m howling to the sky,
to the rivers below
I hear my calling now, and now
I must go.
Leave a Thoughtful Comment
Read 0 comments and reply