In searching she steps into the stream
chasing dreams as they swim swiftly by
ever hopeful her own will appear in the ripples.
Turning over the pebbles she continues
scanning the bed for that elusive colour
that memory of long lost happiness, hidden.
Silver shards of salvation dart deftly passed
into shady darkness, my net is made for
butterflies not souls she wept silently.
Further in the flow is faster, with
careful steps cautious of falling
she follows the zephyr of fate
"please wait" she cries out.
Wading in the watery depths watching
stars blossoms waft downwards
she is washed into the current
wishing she carried you with her.
At last she is lying on the river bed
she is sleeping now, she is not dead
her net is full of pearls just waiting
to enter her head when she is awakened.