SINKS AND SOURCES


He started out from here by foot
An even trade, his rut for ruins,
To seek the storied Silver Brook
So full of hope and disillusions.

Past mountain one, by hillside two,
No chasm could be overlooked
In searching for the answers true,
Inside the tides of Silver Brook.

He saw the stars and on occasion
Dreamt that he could even fly.
He fancied Midas, Thor, and Jason.
Two years slowly passed him by.

He traveled long and far afield;
The final cave, the final hole.
Once deep inside, two rocks revealed,
That time had long since ceased to know.

The rocks, not large, a fist around
And much like most he'd find;
But time could not be lost, nor ground,
While silver water splashed his mind.

So on he went, a right, a left,
A left again and then two more
Till several minutes found him yet
To stand where once he stood before.

Familiar anger like a friend
Was planted in his head and heart,
But he would not accept this end
As once again he sought to start.

So on he went, a straighter path,
Past walls as smooth as dampened talc
Through vacant corridors not half
Uncertain he would not go back.

But hallways wend and hallways wind
And straight to some is not to all
And in some time he stopped to find
A darkened room, three meters tall.

His torch's unremitting glare
Enlightened his contorted face.
No Silver Brook, just two rocks there,
And space and space and space and space.

His anger mounted, splayed, and curled
As lines of force converged.
He would have cursed this whole damn world
But who was there to hear his words?

Now, onward! On! Toward Silver Brook!
And as he stumbled off to go,
In less time than a heartbeat took,
The rightmost rock began to glow

And issued forth a field of waves
Of energies the centuries stored,
And every pulse the right rock gave,
The leftmost, just as fast, absorbed

The cavern filled, he stood restrained
In every plane by eerie light
And blindly watched the pure exchange
Of epic void and weakened might.

One fleet ever blinked as now;
Upon his brain infringed the sun.
A choice was made from those allowed,
Some coin was flipped; he lost, and won.

He fell to knees and then to ground
Accepting new-formed thoughts he had
That Silver Brook could not be found
If nothing else, he now knew that.

It happens there are always forces
Lying deep within our wake,
And some are sinks and some are sources.
All, however, give and take.

And in each cave in every crest
That's duly passed by each's course
Reside the remnants of his quest,
The last faint flicker -- hope and torch.






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