It was hard with all the long sleepless nights
flowing over the rocks, the boulders, hard, unmoving

The friction hurting when they wouldn’t let you pass easy or give you a hand
wanting you to keep melting and flowing without
breaking

Your tears mixing with the water that you gave everyone else but yourself,

There was the dry withering underneath,
that touched you, changed you,
but in a way emboldened you 
while you aged and waged.

But the tiny pebbles on your riverbed were friendly.
You embraced them whenever they greeted you

You shared your story of being a mountain brook once, gurgling, skipping, dancing, singing
then a slim rivulet youthful, spunky, gushing 
becoming this huge life giving source, mothering, nurturing, nourishing 
even masculine in strength, the provider.

Giving is noble at first but the martyrdom,
brings in desolation, a promise betrayed.

Until in your disquiet, you contemplated a flash flood
Inundating your banks, lethal, self destructive,

You are forever a river, so you will keep flowing over the rocks anyway;
onwards to meet the waiting ocean, you are swollen, driven. And that’s just fine…..