Mindless Of Who And What I Am

there is a flow of the river
like a stream of
my consciousness
that does not mind
driftwood
it minds its own sound
of flowing
on and on

there is no complaint
what burden is carried
what winding ways
to ease
that which is held with
least resistance

there is no rock so high
and hard
there is no obstruction
this river
that goes on with its song
on and on and on,