The River Often has a Name That which divides us, you on one shore I on another, often has a name. Why Love, do you injure me so? Keep yourself hermit, among soft reeds of greener pastures. Why will you not cross for me? As you do so for many others. Is it because I do not shout your name, nor sing with the winds your due praises? Or perhaps, I do not profess you my master, but the keeper of my soul’s freedom. Shall I endure the punishments of hell? Maybe just die alone. I will stand on this barren river bank unmoving, without life’s breath, until you wake my slumbering soul. If need be, I shall live as Psyche did, and through torture prove my loyalty. Danielle Shaeffer |
